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A 


MEMORIAL 


MRS.    MARGARET    BRECKINRIDGE. 


IN    TWO   PARTS. 


Part     I.    Memoir,  and  Funeral  Sermon. 
Part  II.     Letters  to  her  surviving  Children, 


PHILADELPHIA: 
WILLIAM    S.    MARTIEN 
1839. 


Entered,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1839,  by 

WILLIAM  S.  MARTIEN, 

in  the  office  of  the  Clerk  of  the  District  Court,  for  the  Eastern 
District  of  Pennsylvania.  ♦ 


»  #• 


9 

CONTENTS. 
PART   I. 

Page. 

Introduction,  .  .  .  .13 

Chapter  I. 
Life  of  Mrs.  Breckinridge,    ^  .  .  17 

Chapter  II. 

Additional  Illustrations  of  the  Life  and  Charac- 
ter of  Mrs.  Breckinridge,  .  .  35 
Her  Religious  Character,  ...  42 
%  Her  dedication  to  the  work  of  Foreign  Missions,  46 
Her  Sacrifices  for  the  Church  of  God,  .  47 
Her  Last  Sickness  and  Death,           .            .  54 

Chapter  III. 
Closing  Reflections,  .  .  .  61 

SUBMISSION: 
A  Sermon — by  the  Rev.  A.  Alexander,  D.  D.         69 

1 


1 0 '  *  CONTENTS 


PART     II. 
LETTERS    OF    A    GRANDFATHER. 

Letter  I. 

Page. 

Introductory,  ....  5 

Letter  II. 
Human  Nature,  ....  10 

Letter  III. 
The  Way  of  Salvation,  ...  17 

Letter  IV. 
The  Bible,  ....  29 

Letter  V. 
Prayer, 37    , 

Letter  VI. 
Cultivation  of  the  Mind,        ...  45 

Letter  VII. 
Cultivation  of  the  Heart  and  the  Moral  Habits,       67 

Letter  VIII. 
Manners,         .  .  .  .  .87 


A 


MEMOIR 


MRS.  MARGARET  BRECKINRIDGE. 


^  "Jesus  wept." 


PART  I. 


INTRODUCTION 


More  than  a  year  has  now  passed  since 
Mrs.  Margaret  Breckinridge,  the  belov- 
ed subject  of  the  following  brief  notices, 
was  taken  from  us  into  the  saints'  everlast- 
ing rest.  By  that  event,  the  little  family  of 
which  she  was  the  joy  and  crown,  was  dis- 
solved. The  surviving  parent  felt  that  God 
had  committed  to  him  the  interesting  but 
mournful  duty  of  preserving  the  memory  of 
so  inestimable  a  friend.  But  it  is  long  after 
such  an  event,  before  the  mind  is  sufficiently 
tranquil  to  utter  our  thoughts  and  feelings 
without  excess.  The  peaceable  fruits  of  so 
dreadful  a  chastisement  succeed,  alas!  but 
slowly  in  our  intractable  hearts,  to  the  dis- 
^  traction  of  grief,  and  the  desolation  of  the 
grave. 

2 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  the  deepest  of  his 
sorrow,  also,  that  the  writer  was  hastened 
(by  a  very  kind  Providence,  as  he  now  sees 
it  to  have  been)  into  the  active  duties  of  an 
oiRce  which  left  no  rest  for  body  or  mind 
during  almost  an  entire  year.  So  that  if 
his  feelings  had  allowed  the  attempt  at  pre- 
paring a  Memoir,  his  duty  to  the  Church  of 
God  forbade  it. 

In  these  trying  and  peculiar  circumstan- 
ces, he  was  permitted  to  call  in  the  aid  of 
those  honoured  and  venerable  Friends,  from 
whose  hands,  in  a  happier  day,  he  had  re- 
ceived the  lovely  wife  of  his  youth.  They 
of  all  others  knew  her  best,  especially  from 
her  birth  to  her  marriage.  They  had  done 
most,  under  God,  to  fit  her  for  life's  duties, 
and  its  close;  and  to  make  her  "worthy  to 
be  had  in  everlasting  remembrance.''  And 
none  were  judged  to  be  so  well  qualified  to 
do  justice  to  her  memory.  To  the  one  we 
are  indebted  for  the  following  interesting 
Sketch,  making  the  first  chapter.     To  the 


INTRODUCTION.  \f^ 

Other  for  the  valuable  Letters  to  her  surviv- 
ing children,  forming  the  second  part  of  this 
memorial. 

While  all  must  admire  the  delicacy  and 
candour  with  which  this  sketch  is  drawn,  it 
is  evident  to  those  who  knew  the  deceased, 
that  much  remains  to  be  said  which  ought 
not  to  be  omitted — especially  in  regard  to 
that  portion  of  her  life,  embracing  more 
than  fifteen  years,  which  passed  between 
the  time  of  leaving  the  parental  roof,  and 
her  lamented  death.  In  attempting  to  sup- 
ply this  omission,  the  writer  felt  the  incon- 
venience— even  awkwardness  of  returning 
upon  a  narrative  which  seemed  to  have 
been  brought  to  an  appropriate  close.  But 
this  was  thought  preferable  to  leaving  the 
memoir  incomplete;  or  to  breaking  the 
thread  of  the  narrative  given  in  the  first 
chapter. 

And  moreover  it  was  felt  that  the  design 
of  the  work  which  called  for  the  additional 
chapters,  dispensed  with  form  in  the  man- 


\ 


kit.    ' 


25  INTRODUCTION. 

ner  of  furnishing  them.  It  is  intended  to 
preserve  the  memory  of  the  beloved  dead 
for  her  bereaved  children,  and  her  nume- 
rous kindred  and  friends,  rather  than  to 
unveil  her  retiring  character  to  the  public 
eye.  The  work  being  designed,  not  so 
much  for  general  circulation  as  for  family 
use,  is  rather  printed^  than  published;  and 
all  its  imperfections  will  readily  be  over- 
looked by  those  who  will  come  to  these 
pages,  as  Mary  went  to  the  tomb  of  Laza- 
rus— "  to  weep  there. ^' 


MEMOIR. 


CHAPTER    I. 

A  NARRATIVE  of  the  life  of  our  departed  friends, 
bears  some  resemblance  to  the  representation,  on 
canvass,  of  their  persons  and  features;  it  serves 
to  restore  and  collect  our  scattered  thoughts,  and 
revive  our  affections;  and  prevents  the  hand  of 
time  from  obliterating  entirely,  their  peculiar  men- 
tal and  moral  lineaments. 

It  was  in  consequence  of  the  necessity  of  this 
help  to  our  natural  infirmities,  that  our  Lord  gave 
to  his  people  the  bread  and  wine,  as  a  symbol  of 
his  body  and  blood,  and  said,  "  Do  this  in  remem- 
brance of  me."  He  knew  too  well  our  careless, 
wandering  hearts,  to  trust  the  recollections,  even  of 
his  great  and  lovely  character,  to  our  unfaithful 
keeping,  and  established,  as  a  help  to  his  word, 
the  ordinance  which  was  to  continue  unto  the  end 
of  the  world,  "  as  a  memorial  of  him."  And  we 
trust  that  his  people  are  permitted  to  endeavour  to 
perpetuate  the  remembrance  of  each  other  by 
means,  which,  however  they  may  come  greatly 
2* 


IS  MEMOIR    OF 

short  of  the  significant  emblem  ordained  by  him- 
self, will  assist  in  enabling  them  "  to  love  one 
another  as  he  also  loved  them." 

In  view  of  this  encouragement,  given  us  in  the 
Scriptures  of  inspiration,  we  would  endeavour  to 
bring  together,  and  exhibit,  in  the  history  of  the 
short  life  of  Mrs.  Margaret  Breckinridge,  some  of 
those  graces  of  a  Christian  character,  which  lead 
us  to  hope  that  the  finger  of  the  Lord  had  engraven 
his  name  on  her  heart,  and  that  his  grace  was  car- 
rying on  the  work,  notwithstanding  much  infirmity 
of  flesh  and  spirit,  until  the  body  of  sin  and  death 
within  her  was  rolled  away,  and  a  simple,  undivi- 
ded hold  taken  on  the  Rock  of  ages. 

She  was  born  September  29th,  1802,  in  New 
York,  and  educated  for  several  years  under  the 
immediate  instruction  of  the  sanctuary,  in  a  com- 
paratively pure  state  of  the  Church,  when  the 
name  and  influence  of  a  few  such  venerable  and 
holy  men  as  the  Rev.  Dr.  John  Rodgers,  had 
thrown  a  restraint  on  the  vices  of  the  world  around 
them,  as  well  as  on  the  constantly  recurring  dis- 
orders of  the  Church,  so  that  the  very  vagrants  of 
the  street  felt  their  presence.*     Every  pastor  of  a 

*  The  appearance  of  these  servants  of  God,  in  any 
part  of  the  city,  seemed  to  make  "iniquity  hide  its 
head,"  and  was  oflen  the  means  of  dispersing  an  idle, 
youthful  group,  in  which  profanity  and  disorder  were 
beginning  their  destructive  career.  Through  their  influ- 
ence, in  a   great   measure,   the    Sabbath    was,    at  least 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  JQ 

flock  of  Jesus  Christ  seemed  to  feel  it  his  privi- 
lege, as  well  as  his  duty,  to  feed  the  lambs  of  his 
flock  himself,  and  did  not  commit  them  to  the 
ever-varying,  heterogeneous  instruction  of  others. 
The  Scriptures,  and  the  Catechism,  it  was  his  own 
business  to  inculcate;  and  the  same  afternoon  in 
each  week,  had  been  for  many  years,  in  several  of 
the  churches  of  the  city,  of  various  denominations, 
the  season  for  this  instruction. 

By  these  and  other  means,  the  Bible  had  taken 
a  systematic  form  in  Margaret's  mind,  very  early ; 
and  whenever  she  met,  even  in  childhood,  with  a 
scriptural  scene  or  subject,  she  generally  knew 
where  to  place  it,  and  was  particularly  animated 
by  it.  And  this  peculiar  skill,  and  taste,  continued 
and  increased  until  childhood  passed  away,  and 
the  pride  and  enjoyment  of  life  opened  a  new 
scene  before  her. 

For  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  every  vestige  of  the 
sensibiUty  arising  from  religious  instruction  would 
be  swept  away.  She  had  friends  who  wished  to 
see  her  enjoying  the  innocent  pleasures  of  youth; 
especially  as  in  person  and  mind  there  was  a  pro- 
mise of  peculiar  adaptation  to  them.  And  there 
was  a  will  of  her  own  very  clearly  developing, 
which   wanted  more  restraint    than   parents   are 

externally,  a  holy  day,  on  which  the  public  ways  exhibit- 
ed no  crowd  or  bustle,  but  what  was  of  necessity  occa- 
sioned by  a  church-going  people. 


20  MEMOIR     OF 

generally  willing  to  exercise.  Many  interpositions, 
however,  in  providence  occurred,  which,  though 
sad  in  the  view  of  her  family,  proved  a  real  deliv- 
erance to  her — frequently  arresting  her  first  deci- 
sive step  in  folly. 

At  the  age  of  eleven  she  was  removed  with  her 
family  to  Princeton,  in  consequence  of  a  call 
which  her  father  received,  to  a  Professorship  in 
the  Theological  Seminary  in  that  place.  Being 
thus  separated  from  many  snares  incident  to  a  city 
life,  she  began  anew,  as  it  were,  to  form  habits 
and  connexions,  which,  although  in  some  res- 
pects, more  dangerous  and  ensnaring  than  those 
which  she  had  left,  had  not  "  grown  with  her 
growth,  and  strengthened  with  her  strength;"  and 
were,  on  that  account,  more  ready  to  yield,  when 
the  follies  of  youth  passed  away,  and  the  solem- 
nities of  this  world,  in  view  of  another,  opened 
before  her. 

The  want  of  a  good  school  in  Princeton,  indu- 
ced her  parents  to  send  her,  at  the  age  of  about 
fourteen  years,  to  Philadelphia,  for  the  purpose  of 
obtaining  for  her  some  finish  to  the  education 
which  she  had  received  at  home.  She  remained 
there  nearly  a  year,  residing  with  an  aunt,  and 
attending  a  daily  and  well  conducted  school.  In- 
deed it  was  her  privilege,  as  well  as  the  privilege  of 
many  others,  to  receive  instruction  from  a  teacher, 
who  not  only  was  competent  to  every  branch  of 
polite  learnmg  which  adorns  the  mind  of  a  female, 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  21 

but  desirous  of  having  all  which  he  taught  so  sanc- 
tified as  to  reach  the  heart,  and  be  made  the  means- 
of  communicating  spiritual  and  saving,  as  well  as 
intellectual  instruction.* 

The  immediate  efli'ect  of  this  experiment  was 
injurious  to  Margaret's  disposition  and  deport- 
ment. She  returned  to  her  parents  with  more 
love  for  the  world,  and  a  better  opinion  of  herself; 
and  of  consequence  was  less  docile.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  the  atmosphere  of  a  city  was  not  the 
element  in  which  her  heart  would  receive  the  best 
influence. 

In  a  revival  which  took  place  in  Princeton, 
when  she  was  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  an 
interest  was  excited  in  some  of  her  pious  fe- 
male friends  for  her  conversion.  They  concluded 
to  make  her  the  subject  of  special  prayer.  Of 
this  she  was  entirely  ignorant,  until  the  evidence 
appeared  in  herself  of  the  verity  of  the  promise,  as 
to  the  result  of  "fervent,  eflfectual  prayer."  A 
sermon  of  the  celebrated  President  Edwards,  read 

*  Many  will  probably  have  reason  for  everlasting  re- 
joicing in  the  kind  arrangement  which  placed  them  under 
Mr.  Jaudon's  instruction.  He  was  truly  "a  man  of  God," 
and  the  effects  of  his  wise  and  holy  instruction  and  discip^ 
line,  we  have  no  doubt  are  felt  in  the  bosom  of  many  fami- 
lies, and  in  the  hearts  of  many  individuals  in  Philadel- 
phia, to  this  day,  who  will,  we  trust,  be  prepared  to  meet 
him,  where,  having  turned  many  to  righteousness,  "he 
shall  shine  as  a  star  for  ever  and  ever." 


22  MEMOIROF 

in  a  small,  social  meeting,  arrested  her  attention, 
and  brought  her  to  continued,  deep,  serious  think- 
ing, which  ended,  as  she  thought,  in  a  new  view 
of  everlasting  things.  With  all  the  sanguine  feel- 
ings of  youth,  she  judged  herself  prepared  to  be 
united  with  the  Church ;  but  owing  to  the  unwil- 
lingness of  her  parents  to  risk  the  possibility  of  a 
premature  profession  of  religion,  this  step  was 
delayed. 

In  connexion  with  this  period  of  her  life,  it 
seems  necessary  to  relate  some  circumstances 
which  took  place  with  regard  to  a  much  loved  sis- 
ter of  hers ;  not  many  years  younger  than  herself. 
They  had  been  so  closely  educated  together,  as  to 
make  them  one  in  many  of  their  views  and  feel- 
ings. 

Elizabeth,  in  giving  an  account  of  the  exercises 
of  her  own  mind  on  the  subject  of  religion,  some 
time  after  they  took  place,  said,  that  she  experi- 
enced an  irresistible  feeling  of  contempt  for  the 
concern  which  Margaret  manifested,  and  concluded 
that  she  was  indulging  a  mere  hypocritical  affecta- 
tion ;  in  consequence  of  which  she  was  beginning 
to  make  some  observations  to  this  effect,  when,  in 
a  moment,  a  deep  conviction  fastened  on  her  con- 
science, of  the  danger  of  resisting  what  might 
prove  to  be  the  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 
This  impression  resulted  in  a  real  concern  for 
herself,  and  in  views  equally  solemn  with  those 
expressed  by  Margaret. 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  23 

They  both  now  made  progress  together  in  their 
inquiries  and  experience,  and  were  a  mutual  help, 
rather  than  a  hinderance  to  each  other.  Both  soon 
thought  that  they  had  obtained  an  interest  in 
"  Him,  whose  blood  cleanselh  from  all  sin." 

It  appeared,  however,  soon  after  this,  as  if  our 
fears  with  regard  to  Margaret  were  but  too  well 
founded.  "  Because  of  manifold  temptations,"  she 
seemed  to  be  taking  a  new  hold  on  the  world ;  but 
a  state  of  things  about  the  same  time,  began  with 
Elizabeth,  which  disciplined  and  humbled  her 
spirit;  and  she  was  soon  enabled  to  realize  all  the 
insufficiency  and  uncertainty  of  this  world,  as  a 
portion. 

Many  doubts  with  regard  to  the  genuineness  of 
the  change  which  Elizabeth  trusted  had  taken 
place  in  her  heart,  increased  by  the  weakness 
which  rapidly  declining  health  had  induced,  per- 
plexed and  troubled  her,  and  made  her  more  and 
more  unwilling  to  make  a  profession  of  religion. 
She  had  witnessed  some  of  the  extravagances  of 
revivals,  and  felt  the  danger  of  being  deceived,  and 
of  "having  a  name  to  live  whilst  she  was  dead." 

In  January,  1823,  Margaret  was  married  to  the 
Rev.  John  Breckinridge,  and  returned  with  him  to 
Kentucky,  his  native  State,  in  the  spring  of  the 
same  year.  In  consequence  of  a  call  which  her 
husband  received,  to  a  church  in  Kentucky,  (which 
he  accepted,)  they  were  soon  after  this  settled  in 
Lexington.     Her  departure  from  her  early  home 


24  MEMOIR     OF 

was  her  first  real  trial.  For  although,  through  the 
course  of  several  months,  she  had  taken  a  prospec- 
tive view  of  this  arrangement,  with  much  buoyancy 
of  spirits,  as  the  time  approached,  every  circum- 
stance connected  with  a  separation  from  all  the 
associations  of  her  childhood  and  youth,  seemed 
to  produce  a  new  and  deeper  impression,  and 
seven  or  eight  hundred  miles  appeared  at  length, 
as  almost  an  interminable  space.  The  sadness 
which  irresistibly  overspread  her  countenance, 
convinced  her  friends  that  when,  in  view  of  Mr. 
Breckinridge's  first  destination,  she  had  given  her- 
self unreservedly  to  a  foreign  mission,  she,  like 
many  others,  little  knew  her  own  heart,  and  all 
the  sacrifices  which  such  a  destination  involved. 
And  when  it  was  seen  expedient  that  this  intention 
should  be  relinquished  by  him,  for  a  plan  more 
eligible  in  the  view  of  his  fathers  in  the  ministry, 
a  release  from  this  more  enduring  trial,  formed  no 
small  part  of  the  considerations  which  assisted  in 
making  her  submissively  bow  to  one  so  much 
more  lenient.  And  indeed,  she  had  reason  to  say, 
that  goodness  and  mercy  had  followed  her  at  eve- 
ry step.  For  this  very  trial  which  sobered  her 
countenance,  made  her  heart  better,  and  prepared 
the  way  for  deeper  self-examination,  and  probably 
more  fervent  prayer ;  and  the  result  was,  that  with 
a  trembling  confidence  she  united  herself  with  her 
husband's  church  in  Lexington,  a  few  months  after 
he  took  charge  of  it.     From  her  letters,  after  this 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  25 

event,  we  learned  that  her  connexion  with  the 
church  took  place  at  the  same  time— it  is  thought 
on  the  same  day — in  which  her  sister  Elizabeth, 
having  been  delivered  from  the  many  doubts  which 
had  clouded  her  mind,  made  a  profession  of  religion 
in  the  church  in  Princeton.  This  co-incidence  in 
providence,  having  occurred  without  any  mutual 
intercourse  or  understanding  on  the  subject,  seemed 
so  consistent  with  the  plans  of  Him  who  "  sees  the 
end  from  the  beginning,"  and  who,  from  their  first 
serious  impressions,  appeared  to  have  united  the 
lines  of  their  experience  until  they  ended  in  one 
gracious  result,  that  it  did  much  to  confirm  their 
friends  in  the  hope,  that  a  good  "  work  was  begun 
in  them  which  should  be  carried  on."  They  felt 
constrained  to  say.  "It  is  the  Lord's  doings  and 
wonderful  in  our  eyes." 

The  kind  and  affectionate  family  in  Kentucky, 
of  which  she  now  made  one,  assisted  much  in  alle- 
viating the  pressure  of  sorrowful  recollections,  and 
in  making  the  resolution  which  she  had  formed  of 
"learning  in  whatsoever  state  she  was,  therewith 
to  be  content,"  more  practical,  and  more  enduring; 
and  when  Mr.  Breckinridge  was  called  to  Balti- 
more in  1826,  although  she  was  pleased  with  the 
prospect  of  getting  nearer  to  her  early  home,  she 
felt  that  a  new  tie  had  been  formed  which  could 
not  be  broken,  even  partially,  without  much  pain. 
It  was  a  source  of  much  grateful  recollection  to  her, 
that  she  was  not  permitted*  to  use  any  undue  infiu- 
3 


* 


26  MEMOIR      OF 

ence  to  lead  her  husband  away  from  his  congre- 
gation in  Lexington,  to  which  she  was  indebted  in 
so  considerable  a  degree,  for  the  pleasant  circum- 
stances which  surrounded  her. 

Her  health  was  remarkably  firm,  especially  for 
one  of  her  delicate  appearance,  for  several  years 
after  her  marriage,  and  during  all  the  time  that  her 
husband  had  a  settled  charge.  In  Baltimore,  to 
which  he  removed  from  Lexington,  she  seemed  to 
realize  with  much  gratitude,  the  particularly  plea- 
sant circumstances  in  which  her  family  was  placed. 
Situated  on  the  direct  way  between  her  husband's 
relatives,  endeared  to  her  by  so  many  pleasant 
recollections,  and  the  family  of  her  youth,  with 
both  of  which  she  could  have  frequent  intercourse, 
and  in  the  midst  of  a  kind  circle  of  friends,  not 
limited  by  the  bounds  of  Mr.  Breckinridge's  con- 
gregation, she  was  literally  at  home ;  and  when 
the  summons  came  to  call  him  to  another  sphere 
of  labour  in  the  Church,  she  was  the  last  to  be 
persuaded  that  it  was  his  duty  to  obey  it,  and 
reluctantly  yielded  to  the  opinion  of  those  whose 
judgment  she  honoured. 

From  this  time  she  may  truly  be  said  to  have 
been  a  sacrifice  to  the  interests  of  the  Church. 
The  unsettling  of  her  domestic  duties  and  habits,  to 
which  her  temperament  was  particularly  adapted, 
was,  probably,  directly  and  indirectly  at  the  foun- 
dation of  those  causes,  which  gradually  but  too 
surely  undermined  he /■'•health,   and  prepared  her 


t 

0 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  27 

for  a  premature  grave.  Her  last  change  of  resi- 
dence, which  placed  her  in  Princeton  by  the  side 
of  her  paternal  family,  and  amongst  many  of  her 
youthful  associates,  seemed  to  her  to  fill  up  the 
measure,  as  it  regarded  this  world,  of  that  provi- 
dential goodness  "  which  had  followed  her  all  the 
days  of  her  lifie ;"  and  she  said,  not  long  after  it 
took  place,  with  a  humility  which  was  in  itself  an 
evidence  of  her  gracious  state,  "  I  think,  in  view 
of  all  my  mercies,  there  is  a  thankfulness  experi- 
enced which  is  not  the  natural  growth  of  my  own 
heart."  To  us  who  remain  it  is  given  to  see,  that 
these  unusual  comforts  were  mercifully  intended  to 
soothe  the  infirmities  of  a  rapidly  dissolving  body, 
and  soften  the  approach  of  the  last  and  most  for- 
midable enemy. 

Several  attacks  of  disease  in  the  course  of  two 
years,  which  threatened  to  be  immediately  fatal, 
were,  by  the  aid  of  skilful  medical  treatment,  hap- 
pily arrested,  but  not  until  their  baleful  efiect  had 
fastened  on  her  feeble  body,  and  each  had  left  her 
"  more  a  prey  for  death."  And  it  was  a  cause  of 
much  thankfulness  to  her  friends,  that  instead  of 
one  of  those  unexpected  instant  departures,  which 
so  frequently  occur,  and  which  in  her  case  it  was 
often  feared  would  take  place,  the  approach  of 
death  was  gradual  and  mild,  so  as  to  involve  no 
pain,  and  but  little  surprise. 

The  simplicity  of  her  character  appeared  through 
all  her  last  days,  especially  after  she  ascertained 


28  MEMOIR    OF 

that  her  end  was  not  far  off.  Her  words  were 
few,  because  she  studied  to  utter  none  but  "  the 
words  of  truth  and  soberness ;"  she  seemed  to  feel 
that  there  might  be  a  parade  even  in  dying. 

After  a  short  conversation  in  her  room  a  day 
or  two  before  she  depaited,  on  the  subject  of  the 
unprofitableness  of  our  best  works,  which  we  found 
had  deeply  exercised  her  mind,  she  remarked  with 
much  emotion,  a  tear  starting  to  her  eye,  "I  feel 
the  truth  of  these  remarks;"  but,  after  a  pause,  she 
said,  "  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty  as  a  wife  and 
as  a  mother ;  I  have  endeavoured  to  conduct  the 
affairs  of  my  family  with  discretion,  and  to  instruct 
my  children  in  the  best  things."  She  evidently 
clung  to  this  as  an  evidence  of  grace,  (and  not  at 
all  as  a  cause  of  acceptance  with  God,)  and  as 
affording  some  hope  for  her  children,  when  relied 
on  in  view  of  the  promises  of  Him  who  says,  that 
if  this  precious  seed  is  sowed,  grace  shall  insure 
the  crop. 

Her  Sabbath  evenings,  after  the  good  old  way  of 
our  puritan  fathers,  saw  her  with  all  her  household, 
over  whom  she  had  any  authority,  gathered  around 
her  for  the  purpose  of  giving  them  that  instruction 
which,  with  the  promised  blessing,  would  save 
them  from  the  paths  of  sin  and  folly  in  this  world, 
and  prepare  them  for  enjoying  the  blessedness  of 
another.  And  through  the  distractions  of  an  unset- 
tled life,  and  the  hinderances  experienced  in  a  large 
boarding   house,   in   which  several  winters    were 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  29 

spent  with  her  family,  she  persevered  as  far  as 
possible,  in  the  instruction  of  both  children  and 
servants  in  the  week  and  on  the  Sabbath,  with  a 
determination  which  both  she  and  her  friends 
thought  had  shortened  her  life. 

In   view   of    this   peculiar    faithfulness   to   her 
domestic  duties,  we  are  the  more  willing  to  offer 
an   apology   for   what   appeared  to  some   of  her 
friends,  an  indifference   to   various  extra   means; 
which   in   these   last  times   have    been   esteemed 
needful  for  the  awakening  of  a  slumbering  church. 
When  her  mind  began  to  open  to  this  subject, 
the  glory  of  our  revivals  was  beginning  to  be  tar- 
nished.   "  The  enemy  had  begun  to  sow  his  tares." 
The   extravagance   which   so   frequently   attended 
them,  had  produced  in  her  no  little   disgust  for 
what  she  thought  the  mere  machinery  of  religion. 
In  such  circumstances,  ii  is  difficult  to  "choose  the 
good,  and  refuse  the  evil."     The  cast  of  her  mind 
was  such,  that  parade  in  any  thing,  and  especially 
in  the  vital  concerns,  in  which  is  involved  our  ever- 
lasting destiny,  irresistibly  revolted  her  mind.    And 
the  errors  in  principle  and  in  practice,  which  had 
been  by  these  means  insinuated  into,  and  corrupted 
the  legitimate  and  professed  doctrines   and   ordi- 
nances of  the   Presbyterian  Church,  greatly  im- 
paired her  confidence  in  what  many  good  people 
esteemed  genuine  revivals  of  rehgion.    Subsequent 
events  have  abundantly  confirmed  the  wisdom  of 
her  early  and  deep  distrust. 
3^ 


30  MEMOIR     Of 

After  her  constitution  had  been  tried  with  another 
violent  and  unusual  attack,  in  March,  1838,  which 
prostrated  nearly  all  her  remaining  strength  in  a 
few  hours,  it  was  evident  to  many  of  her  friends, 
that  recovery  was  no  longer  to  be  expected.  Every 
means,  however,  were  made  use  of,  that  might  in 
any  way  prove  salutary;  many  of  which,  as  has 
often  occurred,  were  rather  injurious  than  bene- 
ficial. As  a  last  resource,  a  journey  was  com- 
menced, for  the  purpose  of  trying  the  Springs  of 
Virginia,  so  highly  recommended  to  invahds.  She 
was  not  permitted,  however,  to  go  beyond  Phila- 
delphia. Her  physicians  there,  judging  so  long  a 
journey  very  hazardous,  gently  arrested  it,  by  pro- 
posing a  delay  of  a  few  days ;  thus  endeavouring 
to  obviate  the  effects  of  any  disappointment  which 
she  might  experience.  Her  own  views  seemed, 
spontaneously,  to  meet  theirs,  and  a  quiet  acqui- 
escence was  every  day  more  manifest.  After  a 
consultation  of  physicians,  in  which  they  agreed 
that  an  effort  might  be  safely  made  for  her  return 
to  Princeton,  the  sweet  complacency  with  which 
she  said  to  a  very  kind  friend,  who  was  visiting 
her,  "  I  am  going  home  to-morrow,"  encouraged 
a  hope  that  she  had  realized  her  danger;  and  that 
her  will  was  gradually  moulding  to  the  Divine  will, 
and  she  preparing  for  a  far  better  home. 

It  appeared  as  if  she  was  permitted  to  get  thus 
far  on  her  journey,  in  order  to  gratify  the  feelings, 
and  experience  the  renewed  kindness  of  friends, 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  3J 

whom  her  husband  had  attached  to  his  family, 
from  his  temporary  labours  amongst  them.  The 
attention  of  these,  and  indeed  many  others,  whom 
their  interesting  circumstances  were  a  means  of 
winning  to  them,  is  deeply  felt  in  the  family  circle, 
of  which  she  was  a  beloved  member ;  and  which 
will  continue  to  be  felt,  as  long  as  her  memory 
shall  be  cherished  amongst  them. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  she  was  removed  to 
her  own  residence  at  Princeton,  a  few  days  before 
she  died,  fully  sensible  that  her  departure  was  not 
far  off.  One  of  her  anxious  friends,  wishing  to 
be  more  satisfied  of  this,  said:  "You  know,  my 
dear  Margaret,  how  ill  you  are  ?"  A  most  emphatic 
"  O  yes,"  silenced  every  remaining  doubt. 

The  day  before  she  died,  the  conversation  lead- 
ing to  the  subject  of  death,  she  said,  "I  am  only 
afraid  of  the  article  of  death :  I  know  that  when 
this  is  over,  I  shall  be  in  Jesus'  arms."  From  one, 
so  slow  to  speak,  these  were  encouraging  words. 

A  few  hours  after  this,  she  awoke  from  a  light 
sleep,  with  that  sort  of  bewildered  spirit,  which  is 
frequendy  experienced  under  circumstances  of  so 
much  weakness,  especially  when  accompanied 
with,  perhaps,  the  effects  of  an  opiate,  and  repeated 
the  name  of  a  person,  with  which  she  had  been 
familiar  in  her  childhood.  She  observed,  "  what 
easy  words !"  Some  one  present  remarked — there 
are  words  equally  easy.    She  said,  "  tell  me  some." 


32  MEMOIR     OF 

Upon  being  referred  to  a  Psalm  which  had  been 
spoken  of  the  day  before,  she  commenced,  as 
having  found  something  exceedingly  pleasant — 
"  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd" — and  continued  to 
the  end  of  this  short  and  interesting  portion  of  the 
Word  of  God,  in  a  tone  of  sweetness  and  solem- 
nity, which  impressed  every  one  present,  adding 
her  testimony  to  the  sweetness  of  the  words.  It 
appeared  as  if,  while  the  world  was  fast  receding, 
her  character  was  rapidly  finishing  in  the  mould 
of  this  precious  Word. 

Reason  was  continued  to  her  until  the  last  de- 
parting moment,  when,  after  a  violent  but  short 
struggle,  which  seemed  to  arrest  every  mental 
exercise,  except  that  which  led  her  spirit  imme- 
diately to  "  Him  who  takes  away  the  sting  of 
death,"  the  freshness  of  former  years  was  restored 
to  her  complexion,  which  had  been,  for  some 
months,  suffused  with  feverishness,  and  marked 
with  suffering,  and  a  calm  and  solemn  composure 
settled  on  her  countenance,  appearing  full  of  mean- 
ing, which  persuaded  those  who  were  around  her, 
that  she  had  some  communication  to  make.  But 
her  mouth  was  sealed,  and  her  hand  could  no 
longer  eff'ect  the  gentlest  pressure.  We  were  left  to 
conclude,  that  when  in  her  agony  she  had  cried — 
"Come,  Lord  Jesus — come  quickly;" — "Lord 
Jesus  receive  my  spirit,"  "she  was  heard,  in  that 
she  asked;"  and  the  freshness  of  everlasting  youth. 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  33 

casting  one  parting  ray  upon  her  mortal  counte- 
nance, had  passed  upon  her,  and  "  she  had  gone 
to  be  forever  with  the  Lord." 

"  She  being  dead  yet  speaketh,"  and  speaks, 
especially,  to  all  who  yet  Uve  of  her  youthful  asso- 
ciates. Many  of  them  are,  as  she  was,  called  to 
sustain  the  character  of  wife  and  mother,  and  their 
history  in  its  prominent  features,  most  probably 
resembles  hers.  Her  course  was  marked  with 
much  failure  in  duty,  over  which  she  mourned, 
and,  in  view  of  which  she  seemed  deeply  humbled. 
She  once  said — many  months  before  she  died — 
"  O  !  if  the  Lord  were  to  send  his  bereaving  com- 
mission into  my  family,  I  could  never  forgive 
myself  for  the  manner  in  which  I  have  failed  to 
improve  the  trust  committed  to  me,  and  fullilled 
the  duties  to  which  I  have  been  called."  Hear  the 
voice  which  speaking,  says,  "  My  dear  compa- 
nions in  sin  and  infirmity,  I  leave  you  a  poor 
example.  But  I  exhort  you  to  to  become  believ- 
ingly  and  affectionately  acquainted  with  Him,  who 
has  borne  me  through  the  dark  valley  and  shadow 
of  death,  and  'presented  me  faultless  before  his 
Father,  clothed  in  his  righteousness,  and  washed 
in  his  blood.' " 

"  Ye  cannot,  though  Christian  wives  and  mo- 
thers, do  the  things  ye  would;"  but  there  is  a 
fountain  opened,  in  which  your  poorest  desires  and 
efforts,  though  hke  filthy  rags,  "  may  be  washed 
and  made  white,  and  made  instrumental  for  much 


34  MEMOIR     OF 

good.  Point  this  out  to  your  children,  "  talk  to 
them  in  the  house  and  by  the  way,  in  sitting  down 
and  rising  up,"  of  this  only  hope  of  perishing  sin- 
ners. And  lest,  after  all,  they  should  come  short, 
plead,  unceasingly,  the  promises  for  them,  and 
take  hold  by  faith  of  the  blessing.  0 !  how  will 
you  rejoice  if  you  can  say,  "  Here  am  I  Lord,  and 
the  children  thou  hast  given  me."  In  order  to  sus- 
tain your  character  as  wives,  aim  continually,  by 
prayer,  to  obtain  the  gift  of  a  meek  and  quiet 
spirit,  "  which  in  the  sight  of  God  is  of  great 
price,  that  even  the  unbelieving  husband  may  be 
won  to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth." 

May  such  exhortations  from  our  departed 
friends,  reach  us  all,  and  be  sanctified  to  us — and 
may  we  "  exhort  one  another,  daily,"  so  that  our 
social  intercourse  may  be  made  the  means  of 
grace,  and  assist  in  preparing  us  for  our  last  great 
change ! 


MRS,     BRECKINRIDGE.  35 


CHAPTER   II. 


ADDITIONAL    ILLUSTRATIONS    OF    THE    LIFE    AND    CHARACTER 
OF    MRS.    MARGARET    BRECKINRIDGE. 

Whoever  has  been  called,  in  the  midst  of  life, 
to  part  with  'the  wife  of  his  youth' — if  these 
pages  should  chance  to  meet  his  eye — will  know 
what  the  writer  has  felt.  Such  a  bereavement 
must  he  felt,  in  order  to  be  understood.  There  is 
a  shock  in  its  coming  for  which  no  foresight  or 
submission  can  fully  prepare  us.  There  is  a 
chasm  created  by  it  which  nothing  can  fill.  It  is 
a  new  experience,  replete  with  dreadful  desolation. 
It  is  a  wonderful  attribute  of  grace  that  can  make 
these  great  afflictions  so  "  work /or  us  an  exceed- 
ing and  eternal  weight  of  glory,"  that  the  most 
weighty  and  enduring  of  them  all,  shall  seem,  in 
comparison,  to  be  "  light,  and  but  for  a  moment." 
Yet  "  no  chastisement,"  (especially  such  as  this) 
"  for  the  present  seemeth  to  be  joyous,  but  rather 
grievous."  God  intends  that  we  shall  be  moved 
by  such  visitations.  The  call  which  they  utter  is 
too  costly  to  be  hghtly  felt.  The  stroke  is  too 
deep  to  be  hastily  healed.  "  To  faint  when  we 
are  rebuked  of  Him,"  is  to  reproach  the  goodness 
of  God,  when   we   ought  to   "  lay  hold    on    his 


36  MEMOIR     OF 

Strength."  But  insensibility  to  his  afflictive  dis- 
pensations is  to  "despise"  the  methods  of  his 
grace.  And  who  can  fail  to  feel  at  such  a  moment ! 
To  find  one's  self  strangely,  and  after  all  the 
warnings  mercifully  given,  suddenly  left  alone ;  in 
the  midst  of  life  to  be  broken  in  twain ;  to  come 
to  a  time  when  you  may  no  longer  pray  with 
her  whose  presence  sweetened  devotion  itself;  no 
more  pray  for  her  who  many  a  year  has  been  the 
Jear  burden  of  ail  your  intercessions ;  to  see  your 
orphan  babes  left  desolate,  and  enhancing  your 
woe,  by  being  unconscious  of  their  own;  yea, 
"  to  sorrow  most  of  all"  for  those  dread  words, 
"  that  you  shall  see  her  face  no  more  !"     This  is  ^ 

sorrow !  If  it  were  possible,  and  being  so,  were 
right  to  ask  it  for  others,  we  might  pray  for  our 
readers,  that  they  may  be  forever  ignorant  of  our 
experience.  But  we  know  that  every  house  is 
appointed  to  such  a  sorrow,  sooner  or  later. 
They  who  are  yet  to  pass  through  these  deep 
waters,  if  they  cannot  now  fully  enter  into  our 
trials,  may  at  least  be  expected  to  excuse  this 
humble  tribute  to  the  dead,  as  an  amiable  weak- 
ness. 

But  it  is  not  bleeding  affection,  merely,  which 
has  prompted  us  to  add  to  the  foregoing  brief  nar- 
rative, these  imperfect  illustrations  of  the  life  and 
character  of  Mrs.  Margaret  Breckinridge.  The 
bereaved  children  having  been  early  called  to  lose 
a  mother's  care,  justly  claim  of  surviving  friends 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  O"^ 

to  preserve  her  image  that  they  may  gaze  on  it, 
and  her  example  that  they  may  imitate  it,  in  after 
hfe.  It  is  a  cruel  addition  to  an  orphan's  lot,  to 
consign  to  the  tomb  even  the  memory  of  the  dead. 
We  refer  not  to  the  indecent  and  revolting  haste 
with  which  every  memorial  of  the  deceased  is 
swept  into  obhvion  by  those  who,  studious  of  new 
relations,  are  faithful  only  to  forget.  Such  a  spirit 
is  abhorrent  to  every  sentiment  of  humanity  and 
religion.  But  it  often  happens  that  the  disconso- 
late survivor,  for  a  season  careless  of  all  things  but 
of  grief,  neglects  to  treasure  and  record  what  God 
gave  in  peculiar  trust  to  him — for  the  good  of 
others.  That  godly  example,  which  it  cost  the 
toils  and  the  trials  of  a  life  to  exhibit,  ought  not 
to  be  permitted  to  perish  from  the  world.  That 
"  death  of  the  saints,"  which  "  is  precious  in  the 
sight  of  the  Lord,"  and  which  so  gloriously  shows 
forth  his  praise,  is  worthy  of  a  monument  that 
time  cannot  consume.  These  should  live !  We 
should  embalm  them  in  the  memory  of  the  heart. 
We  should  hand  them  down  in  the  tradition  of 
faithful  love.  We  should  record  them  in  a  house- 
hold book,  if  not  publish  them  to  the  world — in 
honour  of  Jehovah;  in  memory  of  the  beloved 
dead ;  and  for  the  good  of  those  who,  even  while 
they  were  spared  to  them,  were  too  young  to 
know  their  value.  It  is  the  memory  of  the  wicked 
alone  which  God  has  doomed  to  rot ;  or  if  it  live, 
to  stand  as  a  beacon  on  the  brow  of  death. 
4 


38  MEMOIR     OF 

There  is  another  consideration  of  great  tender- 
ness and  force  by  which  we  have  been  influenced 
in  making  these  sketches.  Woman  dwells,  to 
speak  so,  in  the  shade  of  retirement ;  and  not  like 
man,  in  the  blaze  of  public  life.  In  the  household 
she  sits  enthroned,  the  weaker  vessel,  but  the 
stronger  power.  Yet  the  domestic  circle,  in  a  great 
degree,  circumscribes  her  influence ;  shuts  in  her 
character.  Her  refinement — her  patience — her  hu- 
mility— her  cheerfulness  in  trial — her  fortitude — 
her  readiness  to  forgive — her  faithful,  constant 
love — her  self-devotion  to  her  children — her  per- 
sonal charms — her  domestic  virtues — her  Chris- 
tian graces — which  make  her 

"  The  light  and  music  of  our  happy  homes," 

are  little  known  beyond  the  narrow  boundary  of 
her  own  family,  on  which  they  continually  rest, 
"  like  the  dew  of  Hermon  that  descended  upon  the 
mountains  of  Zion."  It  is  not  less  so  with  her  do- 
mestic trials — with  her  perplexing  domestic  duties, 
as  she  meekly  toils  in  "patient  continuance"  amidst 
their  innumerable  detail,  and  ever  returning  round. 
Now  while  the  full  disclosure  and  rewards  must 
be  reserved  to  the  great  day  of  final  account,  it  is  a 
special  duty,  on  proper  occasions,  to  bring  such 
excellence  to  view.  Without  our  care,  this  never 
will  be  done,  since  the  graces  that  most  adorn,  are 
the  most  retiring.     By  an  affectionate  diligence  in 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  39 

this  service,  a  thousand  pearls  might  be  brought 
from  the  recesses  of  domestic  life,  and  added  to  the 
too  scanty  stock  of  memorable  worthies.  At  least, 
we  ought  not  to  make  oblivion  the  penalty  of 
domestic  virtue.  On  the  other  hand,  the  doing  of 
proper  justice  to  real  female  merit,  would  most 
effectually  rebuke  that  assurance  of  coarse  and 
fanatic  women,  who,  in  the  insulted  name  of  God, 
assume  the  prerogative,  and  attempt  the  offices  of 
the  stronger  sex — forgetting  that  the  immodesty 
which  is  offensive  to  all  men,  can  never  be  an 
offering  pleasing  to  a  God  of  purity  and  order. 
By  presenting  to  mankind  examples  of  Christian 
women  revolving  in  orderly  beauty,  and  shining 
with  mild  lustre  in  their  appointed  course,  we  not 
only  preserve  the  memory  of  those  who  rest  from 
their  labours,  but  we  diffuse  their  influence  abroad. 
If  we  may  but  do  justice  to  the  subject  of  these 
notices,  she  M^ould  be  herself  the  only  being  likely 
to  complain,  for  she  shrunk  with  instinctive  sensi- 
bility from  every  such  disclosure  of  her  retiring 
character. 

Without  repeating  what  has  been  said  in  the 
first  chapter,  we  proceed  to  fill  up  the  narrative 
given  therein,  by  additional  notices,  which  some 
one  ought  to  furnish,  and  which  a  parent  could 
not. 

It  was  God's  peculiar  mercy  to  Margaret  (Mil- 
ler) Breckinridge,  that  she  came  into  hfe  under 
parental  influence  so  admirable  in  all  respects,  that 


40  MEMOIR     OF 

she  may  be  said  to  have  been  born  and  reared  m  a 
family,  which,  like  that  of  Aquilla  and  Priscilla, 
"  had  a  church  in  the  housed  She  enjoyed,  in 
its  happiest  form,  a  dome-stic  Christian  education, 
halving  the  Bible  for  the  basis  of  knowledge  ;  the 
Parents  for  instructors ;  the  family  fire-side  for  the 
school  of  manners ;  and  the  royal  law  of  love  and 
truth,  as  the  standard  and  source  of  all  true  polite- 
ness. Truly  it  is  a  goodly  spectacle  in  these  days 
of  pretension,  and  vulgar  parade ;  of  shallow  learn- 
ing, and  degenerate  manners,  to  behold  here  and 
there  a  mother  in  Israel,  after  "  the  manner  of  the 
olden  time,"  training  her  little  flock  without  the 
aids  of  modern  parties,  fashions,  vain  accomphsh- 
ments,  and  earthly  tinsel ;  waiting  with  them  day 
by  day  at  the  door-posts  of  that  wisdom  by  which 
grace  is  poured  into  the  lips,  and  mien,  as  well  as 
heart — where  "  woman  indeed  becomes  the  glory 
of  man;"  (1  Cor.  xi.  7,)  and  then  to  see  her  lead 
them  forth  into  life,  from  these  sacred  shades, 
polished  after  the  similitude  of  a  palace.*     Such  a 

*  The  follow ingf  passages  are  so  graphic,  that  it  would 
seem  as  if  our  day  had  set  for  the  likeness,  though  they 
were  written  two  thousand  six  hundred  years  ago: — 
"Moreover  the  Lord  saith,  because  the  daughters  of  Zion 
are  haughty,  and  walk  with  stretched  forth  necks,  win- 
cing as  they  go,  and  making  a  tinkling  with  their  feet : 
Therefore  the  Lord  will  smite  with  a  scab  the  crown  of 
the  head  of  the  daughters  of  Zion :  The  Lord  will  take 
away  in  that  day  the  bravery  of  their  tinkling  ornaments 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  ^\ 

school  was  well  fitted  to  form  the  mmd,  refine  the 
manners,  and  under  God  to  save  the  soul  of  our 
lamented  friend.  God  had  been  pleased  to  endow 
her  with  an  unusual  measure  of  personal  beauty, 
and  great  charm  of  character  and  mind.  So  that 
as  soon  as  she  entered  into  society,  which  she  did 
with  great  reserve,  she  attracted  much  attention, 
and  was  universally  admired.  These  things  com- 
bined, might  have  been  expected,  especially  in 
early  life,  to  draw  her  into  the  world ;  and  lead 
her  away  from  the  humbling  and  self-denying  reli- 
gion of  her  father's  house.  But  even  before  she 
gave  her  heart  to  God,  there  was  an  inimitable 
simplicity  in  her  character,  manner,  and  dress, 
which  evinced  either  a  total  unconsciousness  of  her 
attractions,  or  a  noble  superiority,  to  human  praise. 
Her  good  taste,  and  the  better  principles  of  the 
Gospel,  enabled  her  in  all  her.  after  life,  notwith- 
standing the  many  temptations  to  which  she  was 
exposed,  to  exhibit  the  same  transparent  and 
lovely  example. 

about  their  feet,  and  their  cauls,  and  their  round  tire? 
like  the  moon,  the  chains,  and  the  bracelets,  and  the 
mufflers,  the  bonnets,  and  the  ornaments  of  the  legs,  and 
the  head-bands,  and  the  ear-rings,  the  rings,  the  change- 
able suits  of  apparel,  and  the  mantles,  and  the  whimples, 
and  the  crisping  pins,  and  the  glasses,  and  the  fine  linen, 
and  the  hoods,  and  the  veils." — Isaiah  iii.  chap.  Behold 
the  contrast!  1  Peter  iii.  1-6.  1  Timothy  ii.  chap.  9-10. 


42  MEMOIR     OF 


HER    RELIGIOUS    CHARACTER. 


The  work  of  the  Spirit  was  early  begun  in  her 
heart;  but  it  was  for  some  time  resisted.  Our 
acquaintance  with  her  began  just  as  she  was 
closing  her  domestic  education,  (in  her  sixteenth 
year,)  and  almost  before  she  had  looked  this  evil 
world  in  the  face.  In  1820  she  became  decidedly 
serious ;  and  after  several  months  of  deep  rehgious 
impression,  expressed  a  trembling  hope  of  an  inte- 
rest in  the  Divine  Redeemer.  At  this  time  she  was 
strongly  disposed  to  make  a  public  profession  of 
religion;  but  the  salutary  caution  of  her  parents 
induced  her  to  postpone  it  to  a  future  occasion. 
Subsequently  to  this,  the  extreme  fear  which  she 
ever  after  cherished,  of  self-delusion  in  religious 
exercises ;  the  high  standard  of  Christian  character 
which  she  had  proposed  to  herself;  and  her  strong 
conviction  of  the  frequent  and  very  hurtful  incon- 
sistencies of  many  professors  of  religion;  influ- 
enced her,  in  the  end  to  defer  that  solemn  step  to 
a  distant  day.  That  day,  as  stated  in  the  narra- 
tive, did  not  arrive  until  after  her  marriage,  her 
removal  to  Kentucky,  and  her  settlement  as  the 
wife  of  a  pastor.  In  the  mean  time,  however,  it 
cannot  be  doubted,  that  the  grace  of  God  had  taken 
possession  of  her  heart.  And  when  finally  she  did 
publicly  connect  herself  with  the  people  of  God, 
her  tenderness  of  heart,  her  self-distrust,  her  deep 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  ^3 

humility,  her  child-Uke  simphcity,  and  transpa- 
rency of  Christian  character,  condemned  her  only 
for  a  delayed  profession,  and  left  few  fears  for  her 
sake  in  any  bosom  but  her  own. 

She  was  in  a  remarkable  measure  devoted  to  the 
Word  of  God.  Her  extraordinary  memory  faith- 
fully stored  with  its  rich  treasure  in  early  youth, 
vividly  retained  the  chief  part  of  it  through  life. 
The  Psalmody  of  Dr.  Watts,  her  favourite  author 
in  that  department,  she  had  almost  wholly  at  her 
command.  And  with  the  Commentary  of  the 
inimitable  Matthew  Henry,  a  Latin  and  a  French 
Bible,  and  a  Harmony  of  the  Gospels  at  her 
side,  she  daily  and  most  devoutly  searched  the 
Scriptures.  Clarke  on  the  Promises,  was  also  a 
favourite  book,  especially  in  her  last  days ;  and  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress  was  her  companion  to  the 
"  water's  edge,"  where  her  real  visions  of  the  ce- 
lestial city  enabled  her  to  lay  the  sweet  Dreamer  by, 
as  the  Parting  Pilgrim  did  his  crutches,  when  on 
the  bank  of  the  river  he  saw  "  chariots  of  fire"  to 
bear  him  to  the  Pearly  Gates.  Her  diligence  in 
studying  the  Bible,  without  in  the  least  degree 
neglecting  her  domestic  duties,  (and  even  in  the 
days  of  her  feeblest  health,)  was  truly  wonderful. 
When  a  subject  specially  interested  her,  she  com- 
piled and  collated  all  the  leading  passages  of  the 
Bible  upon  it;  often  writing  them  out  at  great 
length,  and  preserving  them  for  reference  on  future 
occasions.     Indeed,  so  far  did  she  carry  her  inte- 


44  MEMOIR     OF 

rested  inquiries  into  the  various  parts  of  the  Old 
and  New  Testament,  and  especially  into  the  life  of 
Christ,  that  she  drew  out  a  harmony  of  the  Gos- 
pels with  her  own  hand ;  the  better  to  confirm  her 
knowledge  of  the  true  order  and  relation  of  the 
events  of  his  history. 

She  was  a  most  faithful  hearer  of  the  preaching 
of  the  Gospel.  Her  luminous  face  cheered  the 
progress  of  the  herald  of  the  Lord,  and  marked  the 
deep  measure  of  her  personal  interest  in  the  mes- 
sage from  the  skies.  Since  her  decease,  we  have 
found  numerous  briefs  of  sermons  which  she  had 
heard  at  different  periods  of  her  life,  from  those 
whom  she  most  admired.  Some  of  these  were 
delivered  by  Dr.  James  P.  Wilson,  and  some  by 
her  father,  others  by  Dr.  Green,  but  chiefly  by  the 
venerable  and  honoured  friend  whose  tribute  to  her 
memory  is  affixed  to  this  Memoir.  He  was  un- 
doubtedly her  most  esteemed  instructor  from  the 
sacred  desk.  His  inimitable  simplicity,  vivacity, 
richness,  and  force  of  truth,  always  carried  her  un- 
derstanding and  her  affections  along  with  him;  and 
those  appeals  which  were  most  searching  and  sim- 
ple, were  most  treasured  and  admired. 

To  her  refined  and  candid  spirit,  nothing  was 
more  detestable  than  religious  parade.  As  it  is  in- 
timated in  the  former  chapter,  it  sometimes  served 
to  repel  her  from  things  and  people  that  were  good, 
but  savoured  of  religious  cant.  She  was  especially 
shocked  with  the  numberless  and  painful  examples 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  45 

of  female  impropriety  in  this  way,  which  our  age 
has  disclosed.  But  in  all  the  appropriate  walks  of 
Christian  females,  and  in  every  becoming  expres- 
sion of  their  feelings  and  influence,  though  diffi- 
dent of  herself,  she  promptly  took  her  part.  Per- 
haps her  most  cherished  occupation  in  the  service 
of  others,  was  that  of  a  Sunday-school  teacher. 
Here  she  rejoiced  in  the  work  of  her  hands.  Here, 
without  indelicacy  or  pretension,  she  could  use  the 
word  of  God,  in  his  house,  and  on  his  day,  to  teach 
the  little  children,  whom  like  her  Lord,  she  so  much 
loved  to  take  in  her  arms  and  bless.  She  had  for 
this  service  uncommon  adaptation  in  the  vivacity 
of  her  mind,  in  the  charm  of  her  manner,  and 
especially  in  the  rich  store  of  her  Biblical  know- 
ledge. She  continued  this  relation  after  she  be- 
came a  wife,  and  a  mother ;  and  the  tenderness  of 
a  Christian  mother's  love  seemed  to  be  transferred 
to  the  little  commonwealth  of  the  Sabbath-school. 

We  shall  never  forget  the  animation  and  delight 
with  which  she  communicated  to  us,  two  years 
before  her  decease,  the  account  of  a  visit  which  had 
been  paid  her  very  recently,  by  a  highly  respecta- 
ble young  gentleman,  then  attached  to  a  learned 
profession,  the  son  of  a  distinguished  public  man, 
who  had  been  a  member  of  her  Sunday-school 
class  in  Princeton,  fifteen  years  before  ! 


44  MEMOIR    OF 

rested  inquiries  into  the  various  parts  of  the  Old 
and  New  Testament,  and  especially  into  the  life  of 
Christ,  that  she  drew  out  a  harmony  of  the  Gos- 
pels with  her  own  hand ;  the  better  to  confirm  her 
knowledge  of  the  true  order  and  relation  of  the 
events  of  his  history. 

She  was  a  most  faithful  hearer  of  the  preaching 
of  the  Gospel.  Her  luminous  face  cheered  the 
progress  of  the  herald  of  the  Lord,  and  marked  the 
deep  measure  of  her  personal  interest  in  the  mes- 
sage from  the  skies.  Since  her  decease,  we  have 
found  numerous  briefs  of  sermons  which  she  had 
heard  at  different  periods  of  her  life,  from  those 
whom  she  most  admired.  Some  of  these  were 
delivered  by  Dr.  James  P.  Wilson,  and  some  by 
her  father,  others  by  Dr.  Green,  but  chiefly  by  the 
venerable  and  honoured  friend  whose  tribute  to  her 
memory  is  affixed  to  this  Memoir.  He  was  un- 
doubtedly her  most  esteemed  instructor  from  the 
sacred  desk.  His  inimitable  simplicity,  vivacity, 
richness,  and  force  of  truth,  always  carried  her  un- 
derstanding and  her  aff'ections  along  with  him;  and 
those  appeals  which  were  most  searching  and  sim- 
ple, were  most  treasured  and  admired. 

To  her  refined  and  candid  spirit,  nothing  was 
more  detestable  than  religious  parade.  As  it  is  in- 
timated in  the  former  chapter,  it  sometimes  served 
to  repel  her  from  things  and  people  that  were  good, 
but  savoured  of  religious  cant.  She  was  especially 
shocked  with  the  numberless  and  painful  examples 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  45 

of  female  impropriety  in  this  way,  which  our  age 
has  disclosed.  But  in  all  the  appropriate  walks  of 
Christian  females,  and  in  every  becoming  expres- 
sion of  their  feehngs  and  influence,  though  diffi- 
dent of  herself,  she  promptly  took  her  part.  Per- 
haps her  most  cherished  occupation  in  the  service 
of  others,  was  that  of  a  Sunday-school  teacher. 
Here  she  rejoiced  in  the  work  of  her  hands.  Here, 
without  indelicacy  or  pretension,  she  could  use  the 
word  of  God,  in  his  house,  and  on  his  day,  to  teach 
the  Uttle  children,  whom  like  her  Lord,  she  so  much 
loved  to  take  in  her  arms  and  bless.  She  had  for 
this  service  uncommon  adaptation  in  the  vivacity 
of  her  mind,  in  the  charm  of  her  manner,  and 
especially  in  the  rich  store  of  her  Biblical  know- 
ledge. She  continued  this  relation  after  she  be- 
came a  wife,  and  a  mother;  and  the  tenderness  of 
a  Christian  mother's  love  seemed  to  be  transferred 
to  the  little  commonwealth  of  the  Sabbath-school. 

We  shall  never  forget  the  animation  and  delight 
with  which  she  communicated  to  us,  two  years 
before  her  decease,  the  account  of  a  visit  which  had 
been  paid  her  very  recently,  by  a  highly  respecta- 
ble young  gentleman,  then  attached  to  a  learned 
profession,  the  son  of  a  distinguished  public  man, 
who  had  been  a  member  of  her  Sunday-school 
class  in  Princeton,  fifteen  years  before  ! 


46  MEMOIR     OF 


HER  DEDICATION  TO  THE  WORK  OF  FOREIGN  MISSIONS. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  first  experience  (as 
was  hoped)  of  the  grace  of  God  in  her  heart,  that 
the  relation  was  formed  between  herself  and  the 
writer  of  these  pages,  which,  by  its  consummation 
and  close,  became  in  succession  the  crowning  joy 
and  the  absorbing  sorrow  of  his  life. 

While  this  interesting  event,  combined  with 
other  causes,  was  made  the  occasion  (from  an  ex- 
cess perhaps  of  delicacy  on  her  part)  of  retarding 
her  public  profession  of  religion,  it  led  to  an  early 
and  very  decisive  trial  of  her  Christian  principles 
in  another  form.  At  this  time  the  friend  whom 
she  so  much  honoured  by  her  affection,  was  devo- 
ted to  the  work  of  Foreign  Missions ;  and  he  had 
solicited  her  hand  with  the  distinct  expression, 
both  to  herself  and  her  venerable  parents,  of  such 
a  purpose.  This  necessarily  called  her  to  con- 
sider the  question  of  a  personal  engagement  in 
this  work.  She  met  and  decided  this  question 
with  a  promptitude  and  nobleness  of  Christian  re- 
solution which  surprised  even  those  who  knew  her 
best;  and  though  in  the  providence  of  God  she 
was  spared  the  expected  trial  of  separation  for  life 
from  her  family  and  country,  yet  the  unreserved 
dedication  of  herself  to  the  Missionary  cause  which 
her  Redeemer  enabled  her  to  make,  gave  elevation 
to  her  Christian  character,  and  prepared  her  for 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  47 

the  trials  scarcely  less  severe  to  which  she  was 
called  in  the  domestic  field.  It  was  on  the  ground 
of  her  having  thus  dedicated  herself,  that  with 
so  much  self-oblivion,  and  even  cheerfulness,  she 
encountered  the  many  difficulties  of  which  we  are 
now  to  speak. 

HER  SACRIFICES  FOR  THE  CHURCH  OF  GOD. 

By  a  train  of  events  over  which  we  had  no  con- 
trol, and  in  the  interpretation  of  which  we  were 
permitted  to  enjoy  the  direction  of  the  Church,  (it 
would  be  needless  to  recite  them  here,)  we  were 
hindered  from  indulging  the  desire  to  "go  far  hence 
to  the  Gentiles."  But  the  principle  of  dedication 
for  life  was  settled  ;  and  hence  it  was  from  the  first, 
understood  and  acted  on  at  all  times,  that  other 
things  being  equal,  the  field  at  home  in  which  there 
was  opportunity  to  do  most  for  the  conversion  of  the 
heathen,  was  always  to  be  preferred,  if  ofl?ered  by 
the  Lord  of  the  harvest.  Her  first  and  second  set- 
tlements could  scarcely  be  considered  as  giving  oc- 
casion to  many  sacrifices.  Lexington,  Kentucky, 
was  in  the  bosom  of  her  husband's  native  state. 
There,  in  the  garden  of  America,  surrounded  by  a 
great  circle  of  the  most  affectionate  kindred  and 
friends,  and  in  a  city  remarkable  as  the  Athens  of 
the  west  for  its  refinement  and  general  intelligence, 
and  connected  with  a  most  kind  and  worthy  con- 
gregation,  Mrs.  B.  felt,  that  even  separation  from 


50  MEMOIR     OF 


■f 


■% 


^ 


all,  and  consent  to  erect  her  domestic  altar  in  the 
wilderness,  and  gather  her  little  fold  on  the  high- 
way, for  Jesus'  sake.  When  weary  of  a  year  of 
travel,  undertaken  to  shun  a  year  of  separation,  she 
returned  to  occupy  and  order  her  solitary  home. 
There  she  was  constrained,  though  both  tender  and 
inexperienced,  "  to  guide  her  house"  alone;  and  to 
receive  her  husband  only  as  an  occasional  visitant. 
Still,  she  never  murmured;  nor  would  we  com^' 
plain.  But  faithful  history — now  that  she  rests 
from  her  labours,  requires  this  narrative ;  and  God 
permits  the  record  of  "  those,  works  which  foUotv^'' 
such  "«s  die  in  the  Lord.''''  Thus,  for  five  years, 
were  kept  up  the  alternations  of  these  affecting 
trials.  They  were  relieved,  it  must  devoutly  be  ac- 
knowledged, by  the  unremitting  attentions  of  those 
kind  and  lovely  families  in  Philadelphia,  whose 
virtues  bound  them  to  us  by  better  ties  than  those 
of  earthly  kindred — as  "  Zion's  friends,  and  ours;" 
whose  reward  we  will  not  attempt  to  take  out  of  a 
Saviour's  hands  by  our  poor  praises ;  and  whose 
displeasure  we  shall  only  then  be  sure  of  incur- 
ring, when  we  attempt  to  unveil  to  the  public  eye, 
the  authors  of  so  much  disinterested  and  untiring 
goodness.  The  same  reference  is  due  to  very 
many  families  in  the  city  of  New  York,  in  which, 
for  several  successive  years,  she  passed  the  win- 
ters with  her  husband.  He  who  thus  imperfectly 
attempts  to  record  his  gratitude,  knew  her  worth 
so  well,  that  he  cannot  wonder  that  such  friends 


Jfe 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE. 


51 


should  love  her ;  and  he  feels  it  his  duty  here  to 
say,  that  any  portion  of  success  in  the  work  herein 
referred  to,  is  under  God,  largely  owing,  not  only 
to  her  influence  on  his  labours,  but  to  the  charm 
which  she  threw  upon  every  circle  with  which  she 
mingled,  and  the  interest  she  kindled  in  all  the 
persons  and  objects  which  interested  her.  When, 
at  the  end  of  two  years,  he  felt  overwhelmed  with 
the  review  of  her  domestic  trials,  and  was  strongly 
moved  to  abandon  a  work  which  made  them  inevi- 
table, she  earnestly  resisted  the  thought  of  change ; 
and  \y\x\\  generous  self-devotion  urged  her  husband 
forward  in  a  work  which,  though  painful  to  her 
feelings,  was  in  her  view  useful  to  the  Church, 
and  pleasing  to  its  glorious  Head.  As  her  impres- 
sions were  those  of  all  her  friends,  and  apparently 
of  the  Church  at  large,  and  as  the  Board  itself 
kindly  relaxed  some  of  the  severer  features  of  our 
trials,  we  were  confirmed  in  the  conviction  that  it 
was  our  duty  to  persevere,  lest  we  should  incur 
the  divine  displeasure,  "  by  being  iveary  in  well- 
doing ^ 

AVhen,  however,  the  indications  of  divine  Provi- 
dence in  the  spring  of  1835  seemed  plainly  to  say, 
that  our  work  for  the  Board  of  Education  was 
done,  and  that  we  ought  to  enter  the  door  opened 
for  us  at  Princeton,  she  was  the  last  to  see  the 
duty  of  a  removal ;  and  though  her  parental  home 
was  there,  and  though  her  heart  and  her  wearied 
nature  cried  aloud  for  rest,  she  would  not  allow 
any  reasons  for  the  change,  to  be  drawn  from  her 


52  MEMOIROr  W 

wishes  or  her  sacrifices,  and  to  the  last,  rather 
submitted  to,  than  heartily  approved  of,  the  new 
relation. 

But  how  deep  are  the  ways  of  God  !  Scarcely 
had  she  time  to  establish  herself  in  her  new  home 
at  Princeton,*  when  another  and  loud  call  to  an 
agency,  directly  in  behalf  of  Foreign  Missions, 
was  pressed  upon  us.  Though  at  this  period  her 
health  had  become  evidently  far  more  delicate,  she 
heard  and  heeded  again  the  voice  of  her  Saviour ; 
and  still  recalling  the  Missionary  vow,  offered  her- 
self again  a  willing  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  God. 
In  deciding  this  momentous  question  (in  the  winter 
of  1838,  after  having  spent  but  eighteen  months 
in  Princeton,  nearly  half  of  which  was  occupied 
by  her  husband  in  active  agency  in  behalf  of  the 
funds,  library,  &c.  of  the  Theological  Seminary,) 

*  It  is  at  once  a  remarkable  indication  of  the  noble- 
ness of  those  Philadelphia  friends  already  named,  and  of 
the  extent  to  which  her  worth  and  her  sacrifices  were 
appreciated,  that  on  being  informed  of  our  final  purpose  to 
remove  to  Princeton,  they  united  in  the  purchase  of 
a  commodious  dwelling,  which  was  presented  to  Mrs. 
Breckinridge  and  her  children.  It  is  true,  one  object  in 
view  was,  the  accommodation  of  the  Professor  (for  the 
time)  of  Pastoral  Theology  and  Missionary  instruction  in 
the  Seminary.  But  the  terms  of  the  gift  are  specific; 
and  when  we  attempted  to  alter  the  direction  of  this  mu- 
nificent testimonial,  so  as  to  make  it  the  property  of  the 
Institution^  it  was  peremptorily  declined ;  and  the  deed  was 
drawn  in  the  name  of  Margaret  Breckinridge  and  her 
children. 


■f  MKS.     BRECKINRIDGE,  53 

we  found  ourselves  incapable  of  being  instrumental 
in  recalling  her  still  again  to  the  commotion,  deser- 
tion at  home,  and  incessant  cares,  of  another 
agency.  Three  months  therefore  were  given  to 
the  important  work,  and  the  offer  of  the  office 
finally  declined.  Even  here  however,  she  persist- 
ed in  referring  the  decision  to  public  relations 
alone,  leaving  all  personal  considerations  out  of 
view.  And  though  fast  approaching  her  end  (what 
at  that  time  none  of  us  knew)  she  spontaneously 
put  herself  at  the  disposal  of  the  friends  of  the 
Board  of  Foreign  Missions,  for  her  part  of  any  ser- 
vice which  might  be  required  of  her  husband, 
whether  it  was  in  extensive  journeys  with  him,  or 
separation  from  him,  or  a  winter's  sojourn  with 
him  and  her  children  in  the  city  of  New  York. 
For  the  first,  hoping  it  might  invigorate  her  health, 
she  was  actually  furnished ;  and  when  that  was 
abandoned  for  the  last,  she  repaired,  with  the  spi- 
rit of  her  Master  in  her  heart,  to  meet  the  trials  it 
induced.  It  was  in  the  fresh  recollection  of  the 
parting  scene,  on  her  way  thither,  that  the  follow- 
ing sentences  were  addressed  to  the  writer  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Alexander. 

"  I  cannot  conclude,  without  a  word  to  dear 
Mrs.  Breckinridge.  I  admire  her  ready  submis- 
sion to  the  calls  of  Providence.  For  although  she 
cannot  help  dropping  the  silent  tear,  she  makes 
no  complaint,  but  shuts  up  her  comfortable  house, 
leaves  her  home  and  her  friends,  and  as  cheerfully 
as  she  can,  goes  to  live  in  a  hotel,  and  among 
5* 


54  MEMOIR     OF 

strangers.  Well,  she  shall  not  lose  her  reward. 
For  these  sacrifices  she  shall  have  rich  compensa- 
tion :  and  our  sweetest  earthly  pleasure  is  in  doing 
the  will  of  our  Heavenly  Father."  (Dated  Prince- 
ton, December  17th,  1837.) 

At  the  close  of  the  winter  we  returned  to  Prince- 
ton, ho.ping  that  now  God  would  grant  us  a  little 
rest  in  that  quiet  village  and  that  delightful  home, 
where  not  ^^  unaware  we  entertained  an  angeiy 
But  ah !  this  blessedness  was  not  long  intended 
for  us.  Having  done  her  work,  (though  still  we 
did  not  fear  it,)  she  was  soon  to  be  taken  to  her 
rest  and  her  reward  on  high. 

HER  LAST  SICKNESS  AND  DEATH. 

Her  last  sickness  was  of  a  protracted  and  very 
interesting  character.  "When  she  returned  from 
New  York,  she  was  delicate  and  her  state  of  health 
was  mysterious,  but  not  yet  alarming  even  to  her 
physicians.  Very  soon  after  this,  she  had  a  vio- 
lent attack,  which  in  a  short  season  prostrated  her 
frame,  and,  disclosing  a  pecuUar  complication  of 
diseases,  overwhelmed  every  mind  in  the  family, 
but  her  own,  (she  was  calm,)  with  the  most  gloomy 
apprehensions  of  her  danger. 

At  the  close  of  the  winter  term  of  the  Theolo- 
gical Seminary,  (May  first,)  it  was  our  anxious 
desire  to  take  her  to  the  Red  Sulphur  Springs 
in  Virginia.  But  it  was  too  early  in  the  season ; 
and  being  yet  doubtful,  whether  this  or  that  place 
would  be  useful  or  hurtful,  it  was  agreed  by  her 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE,  55 

physicians  to  indulge  her  strongly  expressed  wish 
to  try  the  waters  of  Saratoga.  Thither  there- 
tore  we  went,  pausing  only  a  short  time  in  the 
city  of  New  York  for  medical  consultation. 

At  this  time,  she  was  a  most  interesting  object 
to  all  who  saw  her.  Her  debility  was  so  extreme 
that  she  was  borne  from  place  to  place  in  the  arms 
of  her  husband,  which,  from  her  delicate  frame, 
it  was  easy  to  do.  The  gentleness  and  patience 
with  which  she  endured  her  sickness,  the  inimi' 
table  moral  beauty  of  her  countenance,  and  the 
general  expression  of  frailty  mingled  with  grace, 
excited  the  deepest  interest  wherever  she  passed.* 

At  Saratoga  we  spent  a  very  quiet  season  of 
three  weeks,  (before  the  great  hotels  were  opened, 
or  the  crowds  had  arrived)  at  the  house  of  a  most 
kind  and  deserving  Christian  woman,  Mrs.  Tay- 
lor, whose  unceasing  attentions  greatly  conduced 
to  soothe  sufferings  which  God  had  pleased  should 
not  be-  arrested.  During  this  visit  she  used  the 
waters  freely,  as  a  beverage,  and  in  the  bath,  with 
no  apparent  injury,  except  that  it  evidently  dis- 

*  There  is  poetic  beauty  in  the  Stanza  of  Southey's  on 
the  portrait  of  Bishop  Hebcr,  written  after  his  decease ; 
and  though  fanciful  it  is  striking.  Blessed  be  God  our 
Redeemer,  we  have  surer  marks  of  recognition  in  the 
heavenly  world. 

"  They  too,  will  gaze 

Upon  his  effigy 

With  reverential  love, 

Till  they  shall  grow  familiar  with  its  lines 

And  know  him  when  they  see  his  face  in  heaven."' 


56  MEMOIR    OF 

closed  the  fatal  symptoms  of  her  malady.  She  was 
able  almost  every  day,  to  take  gentle  rides  in  the 
open  air,  and  frequently  to  mingle  with  the  family. 
But  her  chamber  was  her  sanctuary.  There  she 
reclined,  feeding  on  the  Word  of  God.  She  was 
especially  delighted  with  Clarke  on  the  Promises. 
During  that  season  of  seclusion,  she  seemed  to 
grow  in  grace  with  a  progress  which  surprised 
(while  it  delighted)  us;  for  we  knew  not  then 
how  near  she  was  to  the  perfection  of  the  heavenly 
rest.  But  it  has  since  been  interpreted  to  us, 
by  the  event,  as  one  of  God's  peculiar  mercies. 
What  made  this  the  more  pleasing  evidence  of 
grace  was,  that  she  did  not  know  her  own  danger. 
It  was  the  power  of  religion  poured  upon  her 
spirit  by  Him  who  was  "  hastening  to  make  her 
up  among  his  jewels."  At  one  time,  she  said — 
"Oh,  yes,  pray  that  the  distance  between  God 
and  me  may  be  taken  away."  And  after  uniting, 
with  the  most  affecting  solemnity  and  tenderness 
in  the  prayer  which  was  offered,  she  at  its  close 
expressed  aloud  her  joy  in  the  exercise,  (a  thing 
most  unusual  with  her)  and  her  delight  in  God  her 
Saviour,  who  draweth  nigh.  On  another  occa- 
sion, after  hearing  some  of  the  promises  of  healing 
to  the  body,  as  collected  by  Clarke,  she  seemed  for 
a  moment  to  be  musing,  she  then   gently  said: 

"  My  dear 1  am  like  the  poor  woman  who 

had  spent  all  her  living  upon  physicians,  neither 
could  be  healed  of  any ;  but  rather  grew  worse. 
My  hope  is  in  the  Great  Physician V 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  57 

Since  we  have  been  calm  enough  to  review  the 
various  stages  of  her  last  sickness  in  relation  to 
her  religious  exercises,  it  has  been  a  subject  of 
deep  regret,  and  of  no  little  self-reproach,  that  we 
had  not  made  the  attempt  at  recording,   as  they 
were   uttered,   some  of   the   deeply  affecting  ex- 
pressions of  her  Christian  principles  and  feelings. 
But  the  tumultuous  hour  of  hope  and  fear,  and 
hurried,  anxious  watching  at  the  bed  of  death,  is 
not  the  time  for  cool  calculation.     Some  of  the 
most  affecting  parts  of  such  scenes  are  incapable  of 
being  written  down,  even  by  one  not  interested  in 
the  sufferer.     Nay,  more— like  the  voices  which 
John   heard   from  heaven   in  Patmos,  the   Spirit 
seems  to  say  of  them,  "  write  them  not:'     These 
are  "joys  with  which  the  stranger  intermeddleth 
not."  (Prov.  xiv.  10.)     It  is  a  sanctuary  which  no 
creature  can  enter.     And  then  our  beloved  Friend, 
who  was  often  afraid  to  whisper  her  religious  joys 
to  her  Saviour,  lest  she  should  be  found  offering 
"  strange  fire"  on  his  aUar,  seldom  talked  of  her 
hopes,  (though  often  of  her  sins,)  to  her  nearest 
friends ;  and  never,  by  ivritmg  them  down,  put  it 
in  the  power  of  posthumous  pubhcations  to  expose 
them  to  the  view  of  others.     We  can  only,  there- 
fore, illustrate  her  religious  character,  at  the  stage 
which  we  now  approach,  by  broken  fragments  of 
thoughts  and  feehngs,  caught  from  her  lips  amidst 
the  awful  mercies  of  a  dying  hour. 

She  began  at  length,  visibly  to  sink,  when  Dr. 


58  MEMOIR     OF 

Freeman,  of  Balston,  whose  skilful  and  kind  atten- 
tions she  enjoyed,  (Dr.  Steel,  of  Saratoga,  having 
himself  been  recently  removed  by  death,)  strongly 
advised  a  discontinuance  of  the  use  of  the  waters, 
and  an  attempt  to  reach  the  Red  Sulphur  Springs. 
For  now  the  prevaihng  type  of  the  disease  had 
become  distinctly  pulmonary ;  and  the  skill  of  phy- 
sicians, and  the  healing  waters,  and  all  the  help 
of  man  were  vain.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  we 
began  to  discern  the  dread  reality  of  her  approach- 
ing dissolution;  and  had  some  foretaste  of  the^?'sf 
anguish  of  such  a  loss.* 

With  heavy  hearts,  but  hastened  steps,  we  re- 

*  The  following  touching  stanzas  do  more  real  honour 
to  their  illustrious  author,  (Lord  Palmerston)  than  all  the 
distinctions  of  his  high  rank  and  public  life. 

Whoe'er,  like  me,  with  trembling  anguish  brings 
His  clearest  earthly  treasure  to  these  springs  ; 
Whoe'er,  like  me,  to  soothe  disti-ess  and  paiu, 
Shall  court  these  salutary  springs  in  vain: 
Condemn'd,  like  me,  to  hear  the  faint  i*eply, 
To  mark  the  fading  cheek,  the  sinking  eye— 
From  the  chill  brow  to  wipe  the  damps  of  death. 
And  watch  in  dumb  despair  the  short'ning  breath  :— 
If  chance  should  bring  him  to  this  humble  line, 
Let  the  sad  mourner  know  his  pangs  were  mine. 
Ordain'd  to  l<jse  the  partner  of  my  breast, 
Whose  virtues  warm'd  me,  and  whose  beauty  bless' d ; 
Fram'd  ev'i-y  tie  that  binds  the  heart  to  prove, 
Her  duty  friendship,  and  her  friendship  love. 
But  yet,  remembering  that  the  parting  sigh 
Appoints  the  just  to  slumber,  not  to  die. 
The  starting  tear  I  check'd— I  kissed  the  rod. 
And  not  to  earth  resigned  her,  but  to  God ! 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  59 

turned  to  Princeton ;  whence  almost  in  despair,  yet 
anxious  to  try  any  and  all  means  for  so  great  an 
end,  we  hastily  set  out  with  our  meek  sufferer  for 
the  Virginia  Springs:  but  as  the  previous  narra- 
tive has  recited,  we  were  arrested  at  Philadelphia. 
Here  all  was  done  by  the  assiduity  and  skill  of  her 
physicians,*  and  the  most  tender  and  constant 
attentions  of  a  great  number  of  friends.  But  her 
divine  Redeemer  claimed  her  for  himself.  She 
returned  to  Princeton,  to  bless  her  household,  and 
to  die.  On  the  evening  of  June  the  13th,  she 
reached  her  children,  and  her  earthly  home.  On 
the  morning  of  the  16th,  a  quarter  before  ten 
o'clock,  with  her  reason  unclouded,  in  a  frame  of 
calm  and  holy  triumph  which  marked  the  dawn- 
ing of  heaven  on  her  soul;  with  a  meek  prayer 
for  permission  to  die,  and  with  but  a  single  pang, 
she  bade  the  world  farewell,  and  ascended  to  God ! 
Her  remains  were  attended  to  the  grave  by  a 
very  large  and  deeply  affected  assembly,  after  the 
delivery  of  the  impressive  funeral  discourse  affix- 
ed to  this  Memoir ;  where  they  rest  by  the  side  of 
her  three  little  children,  two  daughters  and  a  son, 
removed  by  death  before.  The  like  number  and 
of  the  same  sex,  two  daugliters  and  a  son,  are  left 
to  the  surviving  parent,  to  mourn  her  loss,  to  trea- 

*  Drs.  Chapman  and  Meigs,  to  whom  with  Dr.  Nelson 
of  New  York,  we  all  owe  more  for  their  unwearied  and 
sympathizing  care  than  we  have  words  to  express. 


(50  MEMOIROF  • 

sure  and  imitate  her  example,  and,  by  the  grace  of 
the  Saviour,  to  follow  them  to  the  skies,  where 
the  "  house  now  left  desolate  unto  them"  shall  be 
restored  with  added  bliss ;  and  the  little  family 
thus  divided  in  the  midst  of  life,  being  reunited  in 
pure  and  perfect  love,  be  received  into  everlasting 
habitations. 

A.  neat  marble   monument  points   to   the  spot, 
where  her  dust  reposes. 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  gl 


CHAPTER   III. 


CLOSING    REFLECTION'S. 

Thus  it  has  pleased  our  Heavenly  Father  to  "  take 
away  from  us  the  desire  of  our  eyes,  with  a 
stroke."  The  first  impression  of  such  a  loss  is 
that  of  amazement — overwhelming  and  bewilder- 
ing the  soul,  and  with  strange  horror,  destroying 
for  a  time,  the  power  to  feel.  "  Deep  calleth  unto 
deep — all  thy  waves,  and  billows  have  gone  over 
me."  Such  is  the  abyss  of  grief!  At  such  a  time, 
our  part  is  "to  be  still" — sitting,  like  the  Marys, 
"  over  against  the  sepulchre." 

When  the  disciples  of  John  lost  their  earthly 
Master,  "  they  came  and  took  the  body,  and  buried 
it,  and  went  and  told  Jesus."  This  ought  to  be 
the  first  act  of  every  mourner,  to  tell  it  unto  Jesus. 
With  him  we  shall  find  both  sympathy  and  sup- 
port. And  more  than  this:  He  resolves  the 
death  of  our  friends  into  his  own  gracious  sove- 
reignty, when  he  calls  it,  "  the  coming  of  the  Son 
of  Man."  Death  loses  its  terror  when  it  becomes 
his  act  of  grace.  "  The  death  of  his  saints  is  pre- 
cious in  his  sight,"  and  is  always  ordered  with  a 
supreme  regard  to  their  blessedness,  and  his  glory. 
So  that  the  feeblest  of  his  dying  children  may  con- 
6 


52  MEMOIR     OF 

fidently  say,  "  Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust 
in  Him."  "  Though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil ;  for  Thou 
art  with  me." 

There  is  a  feeling  about  the  death  of  our  friends, 
which  is  made  up  in  part  of  unbelief,  and  in  part 
of  that  tender  regard  which  is  produced  by  their 
dependence  on  us  through  life.  Those  endearing 
relations  which  make  us  their  protectors,  and  sup- 
ports, send  their  deep  sympathies  even  into  the 
grave.  Who  of  us  that  is  a  husband,  or  a  parent, 
that  does  not  feel  the  horror  of  the  separation 
aggravated  by  the  spectacle  of  our  helpless  kindred 
struggling  alone  in  mortal  strife  with  "the  king  of 
terrors"?  We,  to  whom  they  have  always  looked 
for  succour,  are  then  as  helpless  as  they,  in  their 
extremest  need.  We  cannot  even  share  their  ago- 
ny. It  is  this  which  gives  a  nameless  anguish  to 
such  a  moment.* 

But  it  is  because  we  forget  that  "  when  father 
and  mother,"  and  all  they  most  depended  on  in 
life,  "  forsake  them,  then  the  Lord  doth  take  them 
up."  The  Christian  is  never  so  little  alone  as  on 
the  verge  of  heaven.  The  Lord  of  hfe  is  there. 
Underneath  are  the  everlasting  arms  ;  and  through 

*  One  of  the  most  affecting  scenes  ever  witnessed,  was 
the  death  of  a  little  child,  who,  in  the  last  moments,  called 
on  her  mother  to  die  with  her.  This  was  the  voice  of 
nature.  To  this  call  the  heart  would,  but  cannot  respond. 
"  Here  our  father  and  mother  must  forsake  us." 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  53 

all  the  terrors  of  the  grave;  and  above  all  the 
tumult  of  that  last  hour,  the  Shepherd's  voice  is 
heard,  saying — "  It  is  I — be  not  afraid."  While 
some  pass  over  Jordan  on  the  wing,  and  some 
struggle  through  the  waves,  yet  all  safely  pass. 
Not  one  of  them  shall  perish,  but  each  appear  in 
Zion  before  God. 

It  adds  tenderness  and  force  to  these  consoling 
hopes,  that  Jesus  once  "  tasted  death  himself."  It 
moves  us,  that  "  Jesus  wept."  But  it  gives  a  new 
nature  to  death,  that  Jesus  died !  For  while  the 
merit  of  Us  death  takes  the  sting  from  ours,  his 
presence  in  the  tomb  dispels  all  its  terrors. 
Therefore,  since  Jesus  died,  let  us  consent  to 
death ;  and  surrender  at  his  call  those  most  dear 
to  us. 

The  graves  of  all  his  saints  he  blest, 

And  softened  every  bed- 
Where  should  the  dying  members  rest, 

But  with  their  dying  head  ! 

It  must  be  sweet  to  lie  in  that  grave  which  he  has 
hallowed  by  his  presence  among  the  dead. 

One  of  the  considerations  which  should  make  us 
acquiesce  in  the  removal  of  our  beloved  friends 
who  die  in  the  Lord,  is  this— that  we  are  suffering 
for  their  sakes ;  and  that  they  could  not  be  bless- 
ed without  our  sufferings.  For  their  death,  (the 
dread  cause  of  all  our  grief,)  was  necessary  to 
their  perfect  and  eternal  blessedness.    This  thought 


54  MEMOIR      OF 

ought  to  soften  every  pang.  If  we  really  love 
them,  and  if  our  sacrifices  for  them  while  they 
were  here  below,  were  the  fruit  of  our  love, 
then  we  have  only  to  remember  that  this  is  one 
prolonged,  supreme  sacrifice  for  their  sakes. — This 
reflection  if  properly  pursued,  would  often  turn  our 
mourning  into  gladness.*  And  then,  if  this  weight 
of  sorrow  that  is  laid  on  us  may  but  be  duly  im- 
proved and  meekly  borne ;  if  it  may  not  only  mark 
the  bliss  of  our  friends  begun  on  high,  but  be  made 
by  a  wise  and  good  God  conducive  to  our  growth 
in  grace — it  will  have  in  it  the  pledge  of  our  ever- 
lasting re-union  in  heaven ;  and  thus  be  an  afllic- 
tion  doubly  blessed. 

But  the  silencing,  yea,  elevating  thought  of  all 
is,  that  it  is  for  Jesus^  sake,  we  are  called  to  suffer. 
"  The  Master  is  come  and  called  for  her."  It  is 
indeed  the  richest  of  our  earthly  treasures.  Our 
own  life  were  a  far  lighter  offering.  But  for  that 
reason  we  honour  him  the  more.     It  is  our  Isaac 

*  A  lovely  example  of  the  power  of  this  sentiment  in 
subduing  grief,  is  given  in  the  narrative  of  one  of  our 
American  missionaries.  He  and  his  fellow-labourer  were 
alone  in  a  barbarous  land,  far  away  from  any  creature 
who  cared  for  their  Lord  or  for  them.  Suddenly  his 
friend  was  taken  from  him.  In  that  awful  moment  of 
desertion  and  anguish,  afler  commending  the  parting 
soul  to  God,  and  closing  the  eyes  of  the  dead,  he  kissed 
his  cold  lips,  and  thought,  "  What  glory  has  already  burst 
upon  his  view .'"     In  this  thought  his  sorrow  was  lost. 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  g5 

that  God  calls  for;  and  it  is  then  indeed  we 
honour  God  when  we  can  offer  like  Abraham. 
We  shall  receive  the  offering  back,  if  not  as  soon, 
as  certainly — and  at  no  distant  day !  When, 
therefore.  He  who  laid  down  his  life  for  us,  asks 
for  our  richest  gift,  let  us  not  call  him  a  hard 
master,  but  give  without  a  murmur. 

The  death  of  our  friends  should  have  the  effect 
of  bringing  Heaven  nearer  to  us.  We  ought  to 
cultivate,  if  we  may  so  speak,  domestic  views 
of  that  blessed  world  to  which  we  are  so  much 
honoured  as  to  have  sent  up  angels  from  our 
households.  While  all  superstitious  emotions  are 
carefully  to  be  quelled,  we  are  permitted  to  draw 
very  nigh  to  them.  We  may  cherish  their  image 
in  our  memories  and  hearts ;  we  still  belong  to  the 
same  great  communion — and  all  are  members  of 
that  body  of  which  Jesus  is  the  head.  "  As  death 
does  not  separate  from  the  Lord,  neither  does  it 
divide  the  saints  from  one  another.  Our  spirit 
and  theirs  daily  meet  at  the  one  throne— they  to 
praise,  we  to  pray;  therefore,  in  that  sense, though 
we  are  absent  in  body,  we  are  present  in  spirit." 

And  the  distance  which  lies  between  them  and 
us  is  daily  growing  less.  How  swiftly  we  travel, 
yea,  fly,  in  all  the  speed  of  time !  It  may  not  be 
an  inappropriate  close  to  these  meditations,  to  insert 
the  family  hymn,  with  which  the  remnant  of  a 
bereaved  household  often  close  the  day,  and  com- 
6* 


QQ  MEMOIR     OF 

fort  each  others'  hearts,  at  the  hour  when  we  feel 
most  desolate. 


Come  let  us  join  our  friends  above, 
That  have  obtained  the  prize  ; 

And  on  the  eagle  wings  of  love, 
To  joy  celestial  rise. 

Let  saints  below  his  praises  sing, 

With  those  to  glory  gone ; 
For  all  the  servants  of  our  King, 

In  heaven  and  earth  are  one. 

One  family,  we  dwell  in  him, 
One  church  above,  beneath : 

Though  now  divided  by  the  stream, 
The  narrow  stream  of  death. 

One  army  of  the  living  God, 

To  his  commands  we  bow  ; 
Part  of  the  host  have  crossed  the  flood. 

And  part  are  crossing  now. 

Ten  thousand  to  their  endless  home. 

This  solemn  moment  fly ; 
And  we  are  to  the  margin  come, 

And  soon  expect  to  die. 

Dear  Saviour,  be  our  constant  guide, 
Then  when  the  word  is  given, 

Bid  the  cold  waves  of  death  divide, 
And  land  us  safe  in  heaven. 


And  now,  in  bringing  to  a  close  these  very 
imperfect  notices  of  a  beloved  saint  of  God,  it  is 
proper  to  say,  that  much  more  might  truly  have 
been  added  in  reference  to  many  points  of  her 
character,  that  would  have  been  proper,  and  inter- 
esting: as  for  example,  her  intellectual  endow- 
ments ;  her  extensive  acquirements ;  her  domestic 


MRS.     BRECKINRIDGE.  Q'J 

life;  her  personal  accomplishments.  But  we  fear 
to  indulge  our  feelings.  Nor  is  it  needful.  For 
it  was  her  Christian  character  mainly  which  we 
designed  to  illustrate.  Her  love  for  the  Redeemer, 
and  her  sacrifices  for  his  sake,  were  the  jewels 
which  adorned  her  on  earth,  and  which  lose  not 
their  lustre  in  death.  It  was  the  glory  of  all  those 
qualities  which  so  eminently  fitted  her  to  attract 
the  admiration  of  this  world,  that  she  meekly  laid 
them  at  the  Saviour's  feet.  There  also,  we  desire 
to  leave  this  humble  tribute  to  one  whose  "  sun 
went  down  while  it  was  yet  day,"  praying  that  he 
who  thus  early  fitted  her  for  heaven,  may  by  these 
poor  means  prolong  her  usefulness,  and  bless  her 
memory  on  earth. 


SUBMISSION: 


A     S  E  R  ]M  0  N 


OCCASIONED     BY     THE     DEATH     OF 


MRS.    MARGARET    BRECKINRIDGE. 


REV.   A.   ALEXANDER,   D.D. 


SERMON. 


Psalm  xlvi.  10. 
"  Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God." 

Omitting  all  critical  discussion  of  the  true  im- 
port of  the  text,  I  will  consider  the  words  as 
addressed  by  Jehovah  to  his  own  people,  when 
suffering  affliction  under  the  strokes  of  his  mighty 
hand.  It  may  be  considered  as  the  language  of 
authority;  or  of  consolation.  According  to  the 
first  view,  it  is  as  if  the  Almighty  had  said,  "  Be 
still,  and  neither  repine,  nor  rebel,  for  your  afflic- 
tion comes  not  from  the  dust,  but  from  me,  your 
rightful  Sovereign;  to  whom  you  owe  absolute 
subjection."  If  viewed  in  the  sense  last  mentioned, 
then  it  will  be  as  though  God,  feeling  compassion 
towards  his  afflicted  saints,  puts  them  in  mind  of 
the  sure  refuge  which  they  had  in  him ;  as  if  he 
had  said,  "  Be  calm  and  unruffled,  in  the  midst  of 
all  your  overwhelming  calamities,  for  I  am  able  to 
sustain  you,  and  to  deliver  you  by  my  Almighty 
arm."  "  Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God."  In 
either  case,  the  result,  as  to  our  duty,  is  the  same. 
Unreserved  submission  is  the  thing  enjoined,  and 
the  reason  to  enforce  the  injunction  is,  "/am 
Gocir 


72  SUBMISSION, 

"  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman  is  of  few  days, 
and  full  of  trouble.  He  cometh  forth  as  a  flower, 
and  is  cut  down :  he  fleeth  also  as  a  shadow,  and 
continueth  not.  His  days  are  determined :  the 
number  of  his  years  are  with  thee;  thou  hast 
appointed  his  bounds,  that  he  cannot  pass."  No 
condition  in  this  life  is  exempt  from  trouble.  No 
bulwarks  can  be  erected  by  kings  and  princes, 
strong  enough,  and  high  enough,  to  be  a  safe- 
guard against  the  shafts  of  adversity.  In  regard 
to  this  matter,  the  rich  and  the  poor  stand  very 
much  upon  a  level.  "  Man  is  born  unto  trouble 
as  the  sparks  fly  upward."  Hence,  this  life  has 
justly  been  denominated,  "  the  vale  of  tears." 
Uninterrupted  bliss  cannot  be  found  beneath  the 
skies.  The  righteous  are  not  exempt,  but  many 
are  their  afilictions.  Besides  a  participation  in  the 
common  lot  of  humanity,  they  have  troubles  pe- 
culiar to  themselves.  The  dispensations  of  God 
towards  his  own  people,  are,  indeed,  in  covenant 
love  and  faithfulness,  but  they  are  not  calculated  to 
encourage  them  to  take  up  their  rest  in  this  world, 
but  to  render  their  path  so  thorny,  and  their  bed  so 
uneasy,  that  they  are  continually  admonished  of 
their  duty  to  set  their  aflections  on  things  above, 
and  to  press  forward  as  pilgrims  to  the  possession 
of  their  heavenly  inheritance. 

The  reasons  which  should  persuade  us  to  exer- 
cise unreserved  and  uncomplaining  submission  to 
the  will  of  God,  as  manifested  in  the  dispensations 


A    SERMON.  "73 

of  his  wise  and  righteous  Providence,  are  at  the 
same  time  obvious  and  weighty.  But,  here,  as  in 
other  cases,  theory  and  practice  are  very  different 
things.  On  this  subject,  we  all  can  teach  and 
inculcate  what  is  right ;  but  when  it  becomes  ne- 
cessary to  practise  our  own  lessons,  we  experience 
a  sad  deficiency.  This  is  a  school  in  which, 
sooner  or  later,  we  must  all  be  learners;  and  it 
behoves  us  to  use  diligence  in  preparing  ourselves 
to  endure  trials  with  fortitude,  and  cheerfully  to 
acquiesce  in  those  painful  events,  which  we  cannot 
avoid.  Some  persons,  when  overtaken  by  severe 
strokes  of  adversity,  are,  like  the  bullock  unaccus- 
tomed to  the  yoke,  restive  and  rebellious;  they 
resist  the  hand  which  presses  them,  and  struggle 
to  throw  off  the  yoke.  Such  a  course  is  altogether 
unwise,  and  must  be  unsuccessful.  "  Wo  to  him 
that  striveth  with  his  Maker.  Let  the  potsherds 
strive  with  the  potsherds  of  the  earth,'*  but  let  not 
a  feeble,  sinful  worm  rise  up  in  rebellion  against 
the  Almighty;  for  who  hath  hardened  himself 
against  him  and  hath  prospered  ?  And  v/hen  there 
is  no  open  rebellion,  there  is  often  a  spirit  of 
discontent  and  murmuring,  which,  though  smother- 
ed in  the  breast,  partakes  of  the  nature  of  rebellion, 
and  is  the  very  opposite  of  cordial,  filial  submis- 
sion. Every  degree  of  this  temper,  whether  con- 
cealed or  expressed,  is  exceedingly  offensive  to 
God,  as  we  learn  from  his  word,  and  is  so  far 
from  mitigating  the  evils  which  we  suffer,  that  it 
7 


74  SUBMISSION, 

doubles  their  pressure  ;  it  makes  even  a  light  bur- 
then intolerable. 

Others  again,  endeavour  to  form  habits  of  hardy 
insensibility;  they  seek  refuge  from  the  keen 
arrows  of  affliction,  in  a  stoical  indifference.  They 
affect  to  contemn,  as  weak,  and  wanting  in  forti- 
tude, all  those  who  seem  to  suffer  exquisitely 
under  the  strokes  of  adversity.  Much  practical 
progress  never  can  be  made  in  this  unnatural  sys- 
tem. Whatever  men  may  profess  or  pretend,  na- 
ture will  assert  her  claims,  and  if  her  feelings  may 
be  for  a  season  suspended,  she  will  again  resume 
her  sway ;  and  indeed  the  equanimity  acquired  by 
these  principles,  has  been  more  in  appearance  than 
reality ;  and  the  greatest  adepts  in  eradicating  the 
susceptibilities  of  our  nature,  have  only  learned 
the  art  of  successfully  concealing  the  emotions  of 
their  bosoms  from  the  observation  of  others. 

But  while  some  endeavour  to  obtain  relief  by 
rendering  themselves  insensible  to  the  calamities  of 
life,  and  aim  at  braving  the  storms  of  adversity, 
there  are  others,  who  err  on  the  opposite  extreme. 
Under  the  chastising  hand  of  God,  they  are  pros- 
trated in  the  dust;  not  in  humility,  but  in  des- 
pondency ;  their  sorrow  not  only  casts  them  down, 
but  overwhelms  them.  They  find  themselves  sink- 
ing in  deep  waters,  where  there  is  no  standing. 
Such  persons  not  only  put  away  all  hope,  but 
cease  from  all  exertion,  and  abandon  themselves 
to  grief;  forgetting  the  exhortation  which  speaketh 


A     SERMON.  "75 

unto  them  as  to  children,  "  My  son,  despise  not 
thou  the  chastening  of  the  Lord,  nor  faint  when 
thou  art  rebuked  of  him." 

There  is  but  one  effectual  remedy  for  the  evils 
to  which  man  is  heir,  w^hile  on  his  earthly  pil- 
grimage ;  and  that  is  religion — true  religion,  not 
merely  apprehended  and  approved  in  its  theory, 
but  deeply  felt,  and  cordially  embraced  in  the 
inmost  soul.  This  is  the  only  principle  of  suffi- 
cient potency  to  tranquillize  the  perturbations  of 
the  soul  when  deeply  afflicted.  This  only  can 
sustain  the  mind,  ready  to  sink  into  despair. 
This  furnishes  the  only  medicine  which  heals  the 
anguish  of  the  broken  heart ;  the  only  balm  which 
relieves  the  wounds  made  in  the  spirit  by  painful 
bereavements.  Here  the  superlative  value  of  true 
rehgion  is  realized ;  and  this  principle  of  heavenly 
origin  is  found  to  possess  a  power,  not  only  to 
sustain  the  soul  under  the  heaviest  pressure  of 
affliction,  but  to  pour  sweet  consolations  into  the 
desolate  and  troubled  heart.  Here,  indeed,  is 
opened  a  fountain  of  refreshing  streams,  in  the 
midst  of  this  dreary  wilderness,  of  which  the  poor 
heathen  had  no  knowledge,  and  of  which  the  men 
of  the  world  are  still  ignorant. 

These  blessed  effects  of  genuine  piety  are  not 
produced  by  any  irrational  process,  or  blind  im- 
pulse; but  by  the  contemplation  of  truths  adapted 
to  the  end.  Consolations  which  do  not  rest  on 
this  firm  foundation,  will  ever  be  found  precarious, 


•^g  SUBMISSION, 

and  commonly  evanescent.  Buoyant  hope  and 
cheerful  resignation  must  have  the  solid  pillar  of 
truth  on  which  to  repose.  It  will  therefore  be 
consonant  to  our  present  purpose,  to  bring  more 
distinctly  into  view,  some  of  those  important  doc- 
trines, the  practical  belief  of  which  leads  to  the 
exercise  of  Christian  submission. 

That  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  whole, 
is,  that  God  exists,  and  governs  all  events  by  his 
providence.  Whatever  men  profess,  or  specula- 
tively believe,  as  it  relates  to  the  actual  presence 
and  operative  providence  of  God,  there  is  un- 
doubtedly much  practical  atheism  in  the  hearts  of 
men.  Most  feel  and  act  as  if  there  was  no  God, 
and  as  if  all  things  happened  by  chance.  This  is 
remarkably  manifest  when  they  are  suddenly  cast 
down  into  deep  affliction.  They  recognise  not  the 
hand  that  smites  them.  They  seem  to  think,  that 
affliction  cometh  from  the  dust,  and  that  trouble 
springeth  out  of  the  ground.  In  all  their  bitter 
lamentations,  their  views  extend  no  farther  than  to 
the  proximate  causes  of  their  distress;  and  they 
often  experience  the  bitterest  regret,  because  they 
did  not  pursue  a  different  course,  or  make  use  of 
different  means  from  what  they  did;  although 
with  the  knowledge  possessed,  they  could  not  have 
done  better.  Under  the  same  short-sighted  views, 
they  are  prone  to  censure  others  who  have  had 
an  innocent  instrumentality  in  bringing  about  the 
events   by   which   they  are   distressed.     All  this 


A     SERMON.  77 

arises  from  the  want  of  faith  in  Divine  Providence  ; 
and  too  much  of  this  unbeUef  cleaves  to  the  pious 
themselves,  and  greatly  aggravates  their  calamities. 
But  when  their  faith  in  the  being  and  providence 
of  God  is  strong,  they  see  his  hand  in  every  thing 
good  and  evil,  which  occurs;  they  behold  him 
operating  through  all  nature,  and  giving  efficacy  to 
all  second  causes ;  and  are  as  fully  persuaded  that 
he  directs  the  fall  of  a  sparrow,  as  the  overthrow 
of  a  kingdom.  This  doctrine  of  an  universal  and 
particular  Providence,  is  the  foundation  of  our  trust 
in  God,  for  security  and  sustenance.  How  beau- 
tifully did  Christ  teach  this  lesson  to  his  disciples, 
when  he  said,  "  Behold  the  fowls  of  the  air,  for 
they  sow  not,  neither  do  they  reap,  nor  gather  into 
barns;  yet  your  heavenly  Father  feedeth  them. 
Are  ye  not  much  better  than  they  ?  And  why  take 
ye  thought  for  raiment?  Consider  the  lilies  of  the 
field,  how  they  grow;  *liey  toil  not,  neither  do 
they  spin;  and  yet  I  say  unto  you,  that  even  Solo- 
mon in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of 
these.  Wherefore,  if  God  so  clothe  the  grass  of 
the  field,  which  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast 
into  the  oven,  shall  He  not  much  more  clothe  you, 
O  ye  ofUttle  faith?" 

When  the  dark  and  cloudy  day  of  adversity,  or 
the  long  and  tempestuous  night  comes  upon  us — 
when  our  comforts  are  suddenly  blasted,  and  our 
brightest  earthly  prospects  are  obscured,  then,  in- 
stead of  repining  or  desponding,  we  should  be- 
7^ 


78  SUBMISSION, 

take  ourselves  to  the  doctrine  of  an  overruling 
Providence.  The  dispensation  may  be  dark,  and 
afflictive,  and  even  profoundly  mysterious;  yet 
we  should  think,  it  is  God  that  hath  done  it.  These 
are  his  footsteps.  This  is  the  operation  of  his  hand. 
He  it  is,  "  who  formeth  the  Hght  and  createth  the 
darkness;  that  maketh  peace,  and  createth  evil." 
The  more,  in  such  circumstances,  we  look  beyond 
all  creatures,  and  second  causes,  and  fix  our  thoughts 
and  our  faith,  on  God  alone,  the  sooner  shall  we 
find  composure  of  mind.  If  we  fully  believe  that 
God  is  in  the  storm,  and  that  it  is  his  voice  which 
is  heard  in  the  thunder,  and  his  face  which  is  seen 
m  the  flashing  of  the  lightning,  the  less  shall  we 
be  terrified  with  the  apprehension  of  unknown 
dangers. 

But  we  are  permitted  to  know  not  only  that 
God  governs  all  human  afiairs  by  his  Providence, 
but  also  that  his  dispensations,  as  it  relates  to  his 
own  people,  are  all  ordered  in  wisdom,  in  faithful- 
ness, and  in  love.  The  doctrine  of  Providence 
can  bring  no  true  consolation  to  any  who  are 
unreconciled  to  God.  They  may  know  that  it  is 
his  rod  by  which  they  are  smitten,  but  they 
cannot  tell  but  his  strokes  are  those  of  vindicatory 
justice,  and  only  a  prelude  to  more  intolerable 
pains.  Before  we  can  repose  with  confidence  and 
comfort  on  the  faithfulness,  wisdom,  and  goodness 
of  the  Divine  dispensations,  we  must  possess  some 
evidence  that  our  sins  are  pardoned  and  our  per- 


A     SERMON,  79 

sons  accepted ;  for  the  more  perfect  the  Divine 
government,  the  more  certainly  will  punishment 
pursue  the  guilty.  Our  cheerful  resignation  to  the 
afflictions  of  life,  is  therefore,  closely  connected 
with  our  justification  through  the  merits  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  While  we  contemplate  our 
own  sins  and  imperfections  only,  we  can  entertain 
no  other  feeling,  than  a  fearful  looking  for  of 
wrath ;  but  when  with  the  spirit  of  adoption  we 
can  look  up  to  our  heavenly  Father's  reconciled 
face,  we  need  not  be  alarmed  nor  cast  down, 
under  the  heaviest  afflictions  which  befall  us.  We 
know  that  he  doth  not  willingly  afflict  his  beloved 
children,  but  out  of  love  chastises  them  for  their 
greater  good,  that  they  may  become  in  a  higher 
degree,  partakers  of  his  holiness.  They  are 
assured,  therefore,  that  all  these  painful  events 
shall  be  so  overruled,  as  to  work  for  their  good. 
And  the  Holy  Scriptures  clearly  teach,  that  al- 
though these  chastisements  are,  for  the  present, 
not  joyous,  but  grievous,  yet,  hereafter,  they  will 
produce  in  them  who  are  exercised  thereby,  the 
peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness.  They  eminently 
conduce  to  wean  the  affections  from  this  vain 
world,  to  humble  the  spirit  in  the  dust  under  a 
sense  of  unworthiness,  and  to  excite  an  ardent 
spirit  of  prayer.  It  is,  moreover,  by  a  severe  but 
salutary  discipline  of  this  kind,  that  saints  are 
made  meet  for  the  heavenly  inheritance.  And  not 
only  so,  but  these  temporary  afflictions,  somehow 


30  SUBMISSION) 

or  other,  will  have  a  direct  efficiency  in  increasing 
their  future  felicity  and  glory,  according  to  that 
remarkable  declaration  of  Paul,  "  These  light 
afflictions  which  are  but  for  a  moment,  work  out 
for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of 
glory."  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  God 
who  loves  his  people  with  an  unchangeable  love, 
should  visit  them  with  the  rod.  It  is  the  method 
which  he  takes  to  purge  out  their  dross  and  their 
tin.  Affliction  is  therefore  compared  to  a  furnace, 
in  which  the  precious  metals  are  assayed  and 
purified.  Thus  Peter  comforts  suffering  Chris- 
tians in  his  time  : 

"Beloved,  think  it  not  strange  concerning  the 
fiery  trial  which  is  to  try  you,  as  though  some 
strange  thing  happened  unto  you;  but  rejoice, 
inasmuch  as  ye  are  partakers  of  Christ's  sufferings, 
that  when  his  glory  shall  be  revealed,  ye  may  be 
glad  also  with  exceeding  joy."  Again :  "  That 
the  trial  of  your  faith  being  much  more  precious 
than  gold  that  purifieth  though  it  be  tried  with  fire, 
might  be  found  unto  peace,  and  honour,  and  glory, 
at  the  appearing  of  Jesus  Christ." 

In  the  testimony  just  cited,  there  is  another 
interesting  reason  suggested  for  the  affliction  of 
Christ's  disciples.  And  it  is  one  which  must  be 
touching  to  the  hearts  of  all  who  truly  love  their 
Lord.  It  is,  that  as  he  was  pre-eminently  "  the 
man  of  sorrows,"  there  is  a  congruity  in  their 
participating  in  suffering,  that  in  this  respect,  as  in 


A     SERMON.  Q\ 

Others,  they  may  be  conformed  to  his  example. 
Paul  also  makes  express  and  repeated  mention  of 
the  same  thing.  "If  children,  then  heirs  of  God, 
and  joint  heirs  with  Christ,  if  so  be  that  we  suffer 
with  him,  that  we  may  also  be  glorified  together." 
He  speaks  of  this  communion  with  Christ  in  suf- 
fering, as  a  characteristic  of  discipleship,  and  as 
a  high  privilege,  "  Always  bearing  about  in  the 
body  the  dying  of  the  Lord  Jesus." — "  For  unto 
you  it  is  given  in  the  behalf  of  Christ,  not  only  to 
beheve  on  him,  but  also  to  suffer  for  his  sake." 
Christians,  therefore,  in  primitive  times,  gloried 
in  their  severest  sufferings.  And  now,  no  con- 
sideration is  more  efficacious  in  fortifying  the 
beUever  against  fainting  than  the  idea  of  the 
sufferings  of  Christ  for  us.  It  would  seem  that 
they  who  have  been  privileged  to  endure  nothing 
for  Christ's  sake,  would  scarcely  be  admitted  to 
reign  with  him  in  glory. 

And  as  we  should  endeavour,  while  in  the 
world,  to  glorify  God  to  the  utmost  of  our  power, 
by  letting  the  light  of  a  holy  example  shine  forth, 
so  there  is  no  situation  in  which  piety  appears  to 
greater  advantage,  than  when  exercised  in  deep 
affliction.  What  disposition  can  be  conceived  as 
possessing  more  moral  beauty,  than  the  grace 
enjoined  in  our  text;  cheerful,  quiet  submission  to 
the  will  of  our  heavenly  Father,  under  the 
heaviest  pressure  of  his  hand.  And  as  we  all  are 
conscious  that  there  is  yet  much   impurity   and 


82  S  UB  MISS  ION, 

dross  cleaving  to  our  nature,  we  should  rejoice  in 
being  subjected  to  a  process,  though  it  be  a  fiery- 
one,  by  which  we  might  be  more  and  more 
purified  from  sin.  Indeed,  we  cannot  do  without 
this  salutary  discipline:  our  salvation,  probably, 
depends  upon  our  suflferings  as  a  means  of  conser- 
vation in  a  state  of  grace.  We  ought  not,  there- 
fore, "  to  think  it  strange  concerning  the  fiery 
trial,  which  is  to  try  us,  as  though  some  strange 
thing  happened  to  us;  but  should  rather  rejoice, 
inasmuch  as  we  are  partakers  of  Christ's  suffer- 
ings, that  when  his  glory  shall  be  revealed,  we 
may  be  glad  with  exceeding  joy." 

"  Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  God."  Be  calm 
and  submissive;  be  not  alarmed  nor  perturbed; 
let  your  resignation  to  the  Divine  will  be  unre- 
served and  cheerful.  Seize  the  occasion,  which 
severe  afflictions  offer,  to  show  your  entire  wil- 
lingness that  God  should  govern  and  dispose  of 
you  and  yours  according  to  his  own  sovereign 
will.  He  is  wise,  and  knows  how  to  order  every 
thing  for  the  best.  He  is  powerful,  and  can  bring 
light  out  of  darkness,  and  good  out  of  evil.  He  is 
faithful,  and  will  certainly  fulfil  all  his  gracious 
promises.  He  is  good  and  merciful,  and  will  con- 
sult the  best  interests  of  his  children  in  all  his 
deaUngs  towards  them;  and  even  those  events 
which  seem  to  be  most  adverse,  he  will  so  temper 
and  overrule,  that  ultimately,  and  relatively,  they 
will  be  made  to  work  for  their  good. 


A     SERMON.  §3 

Under  sore  and  unexpected  bereavements,  the 
human  heart  will  bleed ;  and  the  susceptible  feel- 
ings will  be  lacerated,  and  the  gush  of  sorrow  will 
have  its  course ;  but  grace  comes  in  and  suggests 
considerations  which  ought  to  moderate  our  grief; 
and  to  teach  us  to  be  quietly  submissive  to  the 
hand  of  the  Almighty.  It  is  a  blessed  state,  when 
the  feelings  of  the  man  are  absorbed  in  the  nobler 
feelings  of  the  Christian;  when  our  will  is  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  will  of  God.  What  He  doeth  we 
know  not  now,  but  we  shall  know  hereafter.  It 
will  not  be  long  until  we  shall  be  able  to  see, 
"  that  he  hath  done  all  things  well." 

In  the  recent  mournful  dispensation  of  Divine 
Providence,  we  see  how  many  hearts  may  be 
wounded,  and  how  many  joys  withered,  by  a  sin- 
gle stroke.  In  this  interesting  group  of  mourners, 
we  behold  the  aged  parents  weeping  over  the  life- 
less body  of  a  much  loved,  and  very  lovely  daugh- 
ter. They  have  lived  to  witness  the  premature 
departure  of  one,  whom  they  might  naturally  have 
expected  to  be  a  comfort  to  them  in  their  declining 
years,  and  to  wipe  from  their  foreheads  the  cold 
drops,  in  a  dying  hour.  Parental  bereavements 
admit  of  less  alleviation,  than  others,  from  earthly 
considerations.  The  friends  and  comforts  which, 
late  in  life,  we  lose,  we  cannot  hope  to  have  made 
up  to  us.  And,  sometimes,  the  parents  of  a  nu- 
merous offspring  are  preserved  so  long,  that  they 
survive  all,  or   most  of  their  children;  and  they 


§4  SUBMISSION, 

Stand,  like  aged  trees,  which,  by  successive  storms, 
have  been  stripped  of  their  foUage  and  branches. 
But,  aUhough  bereaved  parents  cannot  draw  much 
consolation,  under  their  afflictions,  from  this  world ; 
yet  the  rich  consolations  of  the  Gospel  are  acces- 
sible to  them,  and  peculiarly  appropriate  to  their 
condition.  The  pious  do  not  know  how  to  appre- 
ciate the  promises  of  God  rightly,  until,  in  the  hour 
of  affliction,  they  are  made  to  experience  their 
power  and  sweetness.  We  cannot  blame  these 
parents  for  mourning  the  loss  of  a  first  born  and 
very  amiable  daughter ;  but  we  trust  that  they  now 
find  support  and  comfort  in  that  God  on  whose 
Almighty  arm  they  have  long  trusted.  They  have 
not  now  for  the  first  time,  to  learn  the  riches  of 
that  grace  which  is  treasured  up  in  Christ  Jesus ; 
and  may  they  be  enabled  to  come  now  to  that 
fountain  of  mercy,  by  the  streams  of  which  they 
have  been  so  often  refreshed  and  comforted,  under 
former  trials ! 

The  grief  of  affectionate  brothers  and  sisters 
also,  flows  this  day,  in  a  strong  current.  They 
feel  as  if  a  part  of  themselves  had  been  taken 
away;  and  yet  they  can  scarcely  realize  the  ex- 
tent of  their  calamity.  It  often  requires  time  for 
grief  to  become  rooted  in  the  soul.  The  first  gush 
of  sorrow  from  the  bleeding  heart,  is  indeed  a 
more  sensible  emotion,  but  the  full  value  of  our 
loss  is  not  felt,  until  after  serious  reflection.  It  is  a 
painful  thing  to  be  separated  from  those  around 


A     SERMON.  §5 

whom  our  earliest  and  tenderest  affections  were 
entwined.  The  thought  of  never  again,  in  this 
world,  seeing  a  face,  from  which  always  the  most 
benignant  affections  beamed  upon  us,  cannot  but 
leave  a  melancholy  and  heart-sinking  impression. 
Who  can  adequately  describe  the  anguish  pro- 
duced by  the  sudden  severance  of  hearts,  long 
cemented  in  the  bands  of  the  tenderest  affection ! 
But,  though  nature  will  be  obeyed,  and  the  floods 
of  sorrow  cannot  be  altogether  restrained,  yet 
there  is  a  Christian  duty  incumbent  on  those 
placed  in  these  circumstances.  The  command 
does  not  say,  that  we  should  not  weep,  but  that 
we  should  not  sorrow  as  those  that  have  no  hope. 
Christians  are  not  divested  of  the  common  sensi- 
bilities of  humanity;  but  they  possess  principles 
much  higher  than  mere  humanity,  by  which  they 
moderate  their  passions,  and  by  which  the  stream 
of  natural  sorrow  may  be  sanctified,  and  turned 
into  that  of  "  godly  sorrow,  which  worketh  a 
repentance  not  to  be  repented  of" 

But  among  the  weeping  mourners,  on  this  sad 
occasion,  I  see  some,  who  though  deeply  affected, 
can  scarcely  be  supposed  capable,  on  account  of 
their  tender  age,  of  estimating  the  irreparable  loss 
which  they  have  sustained.  I  call  the  loss  of 
a  mother  irreparable ;  because,  however  many 
affectionate  friends  may  stand  ready  to  do  all  in  their 
power  to  supply  a  mother's  place ;  yet,  the  assi- 
duity, forbearance,  and  tenderness,  so  requisite  in 
8 


85  SUBMISSION, 

the  treatment  of  young  children,  can  be  expected 
in  perfection  from  nothing  but  that  affection, 
which  the  Creator  has  deeply  implanted  in  the 
hearts  of  mothers.  To  those  who  have  had 
long  experience  in  the  world,  there  are  few  ideas 
more  affecting  than  that  of  a  motherless  child. 
But  orphaned,  as  these  dear  little  ones  are,  by  the 
loss  of  one  parent,  they  are,  I  may  say,  on  this 
account,  more  peculiarly  the  care  of  a  covenant 
God,  whose  promise  extends  not  only  to  believers, 
but  to  their  seed,  and  whose  kind  care  extends 
especially  to  such  children  of  the  faithful,  as  have 
been  bereaved  of  one  or  both  parents.  These  dear 
children,  we  confidently  trust  will  be  the  objects 
not  merely  of  God's  common  goodness,  but  of  his 
special  grace ;  and  after  spending  a  life  of  useful- 
ness in  acts  of  piety  and  beneficence,  will  enjoy 
the  blessed  privilege  of  regaining  their  beloved 
mother,  in  the  mansions  of  glory,  where  sickness, 
death,  and  tears,  will  be  known  no  more. 

In  addressing  the  interesting  group  of  mourners 
now  before  me,  I  perceive  one,  whose  griefs  are 
too  big  for  utterance,  and  whose  swelling  bosom 
cannot  be  soothed,  at  this  time,  by  any  of  the  com- 
mon topics  of  consolation.  An  officious  intrusion 
into  the  sacred  recess  of  such  indescribable  sorrows, 
only  serves  to  exacerbate,  rather  than  mitigate  the 
wounded  spirit.  All  that  the  kindest  friends  can 
do,  in  such  a  case,  is  to  let  their  warmest,  tenderest 
sympathies  fall  in  with  the  tide  of  overwhelming 


A     SERMON.  §7 

grief,  which  rejects  all  consolation.  *'  Weep  with 
them  that  weep."  There  is  another  thing  which 
we  can  do,  and  that  far  more  important,  we  can 
pray  for  our  afflicted  and  bereaved  brother.  In 
such  circumstances,  prayer  is  almost  our  only 
refuge;  for  all  our  help  must  come  from  God. 
While  the  voice  of  man  is  powerless  to  afford 
relief,  there  is  one  who  causes  his  voice  to  be 
heard  even  in  the  midst  of  the  tempest.  And  his 
authoritative,  his  affectionate  language  to  our  be^ 
loved  brother  is,  "  Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am 
God."  "  God  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very 
present  help  in  trouble."  It  is  somewhere  related 
of  that  eminendy  pious  reformer,  Luther,  that  when 
he  fell  into  any  great  trouble,  he  was  wont  to  say 
to  his  friends,  "  Come,  let  us  sing  the  forty-sixth 
psalm." 

A  striking  example  of  uncomplaining  submis- 
sion we  have  in  the  good  old  priest  Eli,  who, 
when  informed  that  God  was  about  to  bring  such 
judgments  on  his  house,  as  would  cause  the  ears  of 
every  one  that  heard  them  to  tingle;  meekly 
replied,  "  It  is  the  Lord,  let  him  do  what  seemeth 
him  good." 

And  the  patriarch  Job,  when  deprived  of  all 
his  property,  and  of  all  his  children,  humbled 
himself  and  worshipped  God,  saying — "  The  Lord 
gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away,  blessed  be 
the  name  of  the  Lord."     "  What,  shall  we  receive 


83  SUBMISSION, 

good  from  the  hand  of  the  Lord,  and  shall  we  not 
receive  evil?" 

When  Jesus  visited  the  mourning  family  of 
Bethany,  who  were  among  his  dearest  friends,  he 
did  not  say  to  the  afflicted  sisters,  weep  not — but 
the  compassionate  Redeemer  united  his  tears  with 
theirs;  for  it  is  written,  "Jesus  wept."  These 
were  indeed  only  the  tears  of  sympathy,  for  it  was 
in  his  benevolent  purpose  to  restore  the  deceased 
brother  to  his  disconsolate  sisters.  Here  also,  we 
have  a  striking  illustration  of  the  truth,  that  God's 
children  are  ignorant  often  of  his  kind  designs, 
when  he  permits  sore  afflictions  to  come  upon 
them;  "If  thou  hadst  been  here,"  said  both  the 
weeping  sisters,  "  my  brother  had  not  died."  Their 
regret  was  keen,  and  unmitigated  by  any  known 
circumstance;  but  in  one  short  hour,  they  were, 
no  doubt,  glad  that  their  Lord  was  not  there — they 
rejoiced  that  their  beloved  brother  had  died;  be- 
cause the  glory  of  God  and  the  power  of  the 
Redeemer  had  now  been  manifested.  Indeed,  a 
gracious  visit  from  Jesus  will  turn  our  bitterest 
sorrows  into  joy.  His  name — his  word — his 
grace — has  a  mighty  power  to  calm  the  swelling 
surges  of  overwhelming  sorrow.  He  can  say,  as 
he  did  to  the  raging  storm,  "  Peace,  be  still,"  and 
there  will  be  a  great  calm.  Were  it  not  for 
thoughts  of  God — of  his  providence,  and  promises, 
and   of    the   seasonable   and  effectual  aid  of  his 


A     SERMON.  §9 

grace,  grief  would  often  drown  the  soul  in  perdi- 
tion ;  as  it  often  does  work  death  in  the  heathen, 
and  in  the  men  of  the  world,  who  are  without  God, 
and  without  hope. 

It  would  be  in  place  here  to  speak  of  our  dear 
departed  sister,  whose  loss  we  now  mourn;  but 
this  task  will  hereafter  be  better  performed  by 
another  hand.  And  to  this  audience  little  need  be 
said ;  for  she  was  brought  up  among  you  from  her 
childhood,  and  enjoyed  the  affectionate  regards  of 
this  community  in  no  common  degree,  as  is  mani- 
fest by  the  general  and  tender  sympathy  felt  on 
this  occasion.  By  her  sweet  simplicity,  engaging 
vivacity,  aftectionate  temper,  and  affable  manners, 
our  beloved  friend  endeared  herself  to  her  acquaint- 
ances and  neighbours,  wherever  she  resided.  And 
in  regard  to  her  Christian  character,  she  adorned 
her  profession  by  a  consistent  life  and  conversation, 
in  all  the  relations  which  she  sustained. 

Her  latter  end  was  calm  and  peaceful.  She  felt 
some  dread  of  the  pangs  of  dissolution;  but  in 
regard  to  what  comes  after  death,  she  had  no 
fear — her  hope  continued  firm  and  her  prospects 
bright  to  the  last  moment. 

It  is  always  a  cause  of  lively  gratitude,  when 
God  is  pleased  to  sustain  his  dear  children  in 
passing  through  "the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death."  It  affords  to  mourning  friends  the  sweet- 
est consolation  which  could  be  received  under 
such  sore  bereavements.     This  consolation  of  our 


90  SUBMISSION,     A     SERMON. 

benignant  Father  has  not  been  withheld  in  the 
present  instance.  Mourning  friends  are  permitted 
to  rejoice  in  the  midst  of  their  overflowing  sorrow, 
in  the  confident  hope,  that  the  departed  spirit  of 
our  dear  sister,  free  from  all  sin  and  pain,  rests 
sweetly  in  the  love  and  beatified  vision  of  her 
divine  Redeemer. 

"  Blessed  are  the  dead   that  die   in   the 
Lord,  from  henceforth  ;  yea,  saith  the  spirit, 

THAT  they  may  REST  FROM  THEIR  LABOURS  ;  AND 
THEIR  WORKS  DO  FOLLOW  THEM." 


LETTERS 


A    GRANDFATHER, 


TO    THE    SURVIVING    CHILDREN    OF 


MRS.     MARGARET     BRECKINRIDGE 


REV.  SAMUEL    MILLER,  D.  D. 


PART  II. 


LETTERS 


A    GRANDFATHER 


LETTER  I 


INTRODUCTORY. 


My  Dear  Grandchildren  :  —  The  decease  of 
your  beloved  and  lamented  Mother,  has  placed 
both  you  and  me  in  circumstances  of  great  solem- 
nity and  responsibility.  To  be  deprived  of  a 
mother's  care  and  counsel  at  the  tender  age  at 
which  she  left  you,  is  indeed  a  loss  which  no 
human  arithmetic  can  estimate;  especially  to  be 
deprived  of  such  a  mother,  one  so  well  qualified 
by  strength  of  intellect,  by  sincere  piety,  and  by 
peculiar  loveliness  of  character,  to  be  a  blessing  to 
you,  for  time  and  eternity,  is  a  bereavement  of 
which,  even  now,  I  know  not  how  to  speak  with- 
out emotions  too  strong  for  utterance.  While  this 
precious  Parent  lived,  she  seemed  to  interpose 
between  your  beloved  grandmother  and  myself, 
2 


Q  LETTER  S    OF 

and  any  immediate  responsibility  in  regard  to  your 
education ;  but  now  that  she  is  removed,  we  seem 
to  be  brought,  in  the  mysterious  and  mournful 
Providence  of  God,  to  stand  in  some  measure  in 
her  place,  and  to  perform  some  of  the  most  impor- 
tant duties  which  she  owed  to  her  children.  And, 
although  your  surviving  Parent  is  eminently  fitted, 
both  by  nature  and  grace,  to  be  a  guide  to  your 
youth;  yet,  as  he  is  engaged,  and  is  likely  for 
some  time  to  be  engaged,  in  active,  arduous,  and 
extended  labours  for  the  Church  of  God,  which 
will  probably  separate  him  from  you  often  and 
much  for  a  considerable  time; — an  additional  re- 
sponsibility on  our  part  seems  to  grow  out  of 
every  circumstance. 

It  is  under  these  impressions  that  I  now  address 
you.  Your  grandparents  are  drawing  near  to  the 
end  of  their  course.  They  must  soon  leave  you 
in  a  depraved  and  ensnaring  world.  What  they 
do  for  your  benefit,  they  must  do  quickly.  As 
one  placed  in  these  tender  and  endearing  relations 
to  you,  and  in  these  solemn  circumstances,  allow 
me  to  pour  out  the  fulness  of  a  heart  most  earnest- 
ly engaged  for  your  welfare,  and  desiring  more 
ardently  than  I  am  able  to  express,  to  see  you 
walking  in  truth  and  happiness,  and  embalming 
by  your  conduct,  as  well  as  by  your  affection,  the 
memory  of  that  blessed  Parent,  who,  if  she  is  ever 
permitted  from  her  high  and  holy  abode,  to  look 
down  on  those  whom  she  has  left  behind,  will 


A     GRANDFATHER.  'J 

rejoice  to  see   you  making  choice   of  that  path 
which  leads  to  the  same  blessedness. 

There  are  two  considerations,  beloved  grand- 
children, which,  I  think,  you  will  all  agree,  entitle 
me  to  expect  from  you  a  respectful  and  affectionate 
attention  to  what  I  have  to  offer  in  these  letters. 
The  Jirst  is,  that  I  have  lived  a  long  and  some- 
what eventful  life ;  and,  of  course,  my  range  of 
experience  has  not  been  small.  In  my  three-score 
and  tenth  year,  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  fol- 
lowing many  young  people  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave.  I  have  seen  the  training,  the  subsequent 
course,  and  the  end  of  thousands.  Need  I  say, 
that  the  lessons  derived  from  such  experience  are 
not  unworthy  of  your  regard?  O,  if  you  could 
start  in  your  career  with  that  practical  knowledge 
of  the  vanity,  the  snares,  and  the  sufferings  of  the 
world,  which  has  come  to  me  through  the  medium 
of  many  a  melancholy  sight,  and  many  a  painful 
conflict,  how  great  would  be  the  advantage  !  But 
this  cannot  be.  Happy  were  it  for  you,  if  you 
were  willing  to  profit  as  you  might  from  the 
experience  of  others.  But  neither  can  this  be 
expected,  in  ordinary  cases,  to  be  realized.  I 
cannot,  however,  admit  the  thought,  that  you  will 
be  willing  to  reject  this  teaching  altogether. 

The  second  claim  which  I  have  on  your  atten- 
tion is,  my  ardent  and  affectionate  desire  to  pro- 
mote your  happiness.  You  cannot  suspect  me  of 
any  sinister  design  in  what  I  have  to  say.     This 


§  LETTERS     OF 

would  be  to  suppose  me  capable  of  "hating  my 
own  flesh."  No,  dear  children,  I  have  no  desire 
to  damp  the  sanguine  joy,  or  cloud  the  smiling  sun 
of  your  youth.  I  would  not  take  from  you  a 
single  rational  pleasure.  On  the  contrary,  I  delight 
to  see  you  happy ;  and  desire,  by  all  the  means  in 
my  power  to  promote  your  true  enjoyment  and 
honour.  But  you  must  allow  me  now,  in  my  old 
age,  when  I  have  seen  so  much  of  the  illusions  of 
the  world,  and  so  many  examples  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  those  who  yielded  to  them,  to  counsel  you, 
not  in  the  style  of  youthful  flattery,  but  in  the 
language  of  "  truth  and  soberness."  You  will 
find  nothing  in  these  letters  intended  to  carry  a 
point  by  overpainting,  or  by  any  other  artifice. 
If  you  have  a  real  disinterested  friend  on  earth, 
who  unfeignedly  wishes  to  promote  your  best  inte- 
rest in  both  worlds,  it  is  he  who  now  addresses 
you.  I  shall  not  give  a  counsel  or  an  injunction, 
but  what  1  verily  believe  your  precious  Mother,  if 
she  were  permitted  to  speak  from  the  bosom  of 
her  Saviour,  would  ratify  with  all  her  heart. 

You  will  observe  that  some  of  my  counsels 
have  a  respect  to  objects  beyond  the  period  of 
childhood,  which  you  now  occupy.  The  truth  is, 
I  expect  soon  to  leave  you.  Probably  long  before 
any  of  you  shall  reach  adult  age.  Of  course,  I 
feel  that  what  I  have  to  say  at  all,  had  better  be 
said  now.  I  may  have  no  other  opportunity. 
Besides,  one  of  the  great  truths  which  I  wish  to 


A     GRANDFATHER.  Q 

impress  upon  your  minds  is,  that  you  are,  even  at 
your  present  age,  sowing  the  all  important  seeds  of 
a  future  harvest  of  good  or  evil.  You  will  not 
find  a  single  habit  or  attainment  recommended  in 
the  following  pages,  which,  if  you  are  ever  to  gain 
it,  you  will  not  find  an  advantage  in  having  calcu- 
lated and  prepared  for,  as  far  as  possible,  at  the 
earliest  age.  The  earlier  you  begin  to  imbibe 
good  principles,  and  lay  good  plans,  the  better  will 
it  be  for  all  the  future. 

Let  me  entreat  you,  then,  to  receive  with  all  the 
affection  and  dociUty  of  dutiful  children,  the  coun- 
sels of  one  who,  while  he  writes,  looks  up  to 
"  Him  who  has  the  residue  of  the  Spirit,"  that 
what  is  rightly  said,  may  be  impressed  upon  your 
hearts,  and  made  to  bring  forth  precious  fruit,  to 
your  happiness,  and  to  the  glory  of  his  holy 
name! 


2* 


10  LETTERSOF 


LETTER   II. 

HUMAN       NATURE. 

Dear  Children: — On  all  important  subjects  there 
are  certain  great  facts  which  must  be  regarded 
as  fundamental;  as  lying  at  the  foundation  of  all 
truth,  and  all  duty.  I  feel  that  this  is  peculiarly 
the  case  in  regard  to  the  counsels  which  I  am  about 
to  give  you  concerning  your  course  in  life.  Among 
these  fundamental  facts  are  the  depravity,  the 
misery,  and  the  numberless  temptations  of  the 
world  in  which  you  live ;  the  depravity  of  your 
own  nature,  ever  ready  to  be  attracted  by  the 
allurements  and  corruptions  of  the  world;  and 
your  consequent  need  of  the  grace  of  God,  at 
every  step,  for  your  guidance,  protection,  and  de- 
liverance. And  until  you  know  and  feel,  and  in 
some  degree  lay  to  heart,  that  the  world  in  which 
you  live  is  a  fallen,  depraved  world;  that  its 
habitual  maxims  and  ways  are  hostile  to  your  best 
interests;  that  you  are  yourselves,  by  nature, 
miserable  sinners,  standing  in  need  of  pardoning 
mercy,  and  sanctifying  grace;  and  that  you  are 
every  day  exposed  to  snares  and  perils,  from  the 
joint  influence  of  a  depraved  nature  and  a  corrupt 
world; — ^until  you  have  learned,  in  some  good  mea- 
sure, to  recognise  these  facts ;  to  dwell  upon  them 


A     GRANDFATHER.  . W 

daily  and  hourly ;  and  to  receive  the  lessons  which 
they  are  adapted  to  teach ;  you  are  not  prepared 
even  to  begin  life.  You  are  not  prepared  to  meet 
or  encounter  the  most  common  scenes,  much  less 
the  more  formidable  dangers  which  are  likely  to 
beset  your  path  every  day  that  you  live.  But  the 
moment  you  are  brought  to  admit  these  humbling, 
momentous  truths;  to  feel  their  reality;  and  to 
consider  and  treat  them  in  some  degree  according 
to  their  practical  importance ;  then,  and  not  till 
then,  may  we  hope  you  will  be  ready  to  make  a 
proper  estimate  of  the  world;  to  guard  against  its 
allurements;  to  ponder  well  what  you  need  for 
securing  your  true  happiness ;  and  to  implore  that 
divine  aid  which  is  necessary  if  you  desire,  in  such 
circumstances,  to  perform  any  duty  aright.  And, 
therefore,  when  I  see  young  people  apparently 
forgetful  of  the  character  of  their  own  hearts,  and 
of  the  world  in  which  they  live ;  thinking  that  all  is 
gold  that  glitters ;  and  imagining  that  they  can  safely 
trust  to  their  own  wisdom  and  strength  in  every 
situation,  I  regard  them  as  objects  of  the  deepest 
commiseration,  and  as  wholly  unqualified  for  either 
the  duties  or  the  best  enjoyments  of  life. 

Know,  then,  dear  children,  and  remember,  that 
you  belong  to  an  apostate  race ;  that  we  are  all, 
according  to  the  declaration  of  God's  own  word, 
"born  in  sin,"  and  "  shapen  in  iniquity;"  that  we 
are  "by  nature  the  children  of  wrath;"  that  our 
native  propensities  are  all  of  them  corrupt ;  opposed 


t^ 


J2  ^ ETTERS    OF 

to  God;  impelling  us  to  habits  and  practices 
forbidden  by  his  law,  and  unfriendly  to  our  best 
interest.  Remember,  too,  that,  so  far  from  being 
able  to  trust  your  own  hearts  to  resist  the  tempta- 
tions around  you,  and  to  guide  you  aright,  they  are 
all  naturally  inclined  to  that  which  is  evil,  and  dis- 
posed to  take  side  with  the  vanities  and  corruptions 
of  the  world.  So  that  there  is  constant  need  of 
self-denial;  of  imposing  restraints  upon  all  our 
appetites  and  passions;  and  of  submitting,  espe- 
cially in  early  life,  to  the  counsels  of  the  wise  and 
the  good,  who  have  gone  before  us  in  the  journey 
of  life,  and  have  had  more  experience  than  our- 
selves of  its  temptations  and  dangers. 

Hence  it  is,  that  so  large  a  part  of  religion  is 
represented  in  Scripture  as  consisting  in  opposing 
our  own  corrupt  inchnations ;  in  "  crucifying  the 
flesh  with  the  affections  and  lusts;"  in  constant 
efforts  to  bring  down  pride  and  vanity ;  to  mortify 
our  evil  propensities;  *'  to  keep  under  the  body;" 
to  " rule  our  own  spirits;"  and,  in  general,  to  gain 
the  victory  over  ourselves.  All  these  expressions 
imply  that  the  course  of  true  wisdom  is  a  warfare 
with  evil;  that  our  most  formidable  enemies  are 
within ;  and  that  resisting  our  own  corrupt  nature 
is  at  once  the  most  constant,  and  the  most  serious 
part  of  our  duty  as  accountable  creatures. 

Nor  is  this  all.  Not  only  is  our  nature  corrupt ; 
not  only  are  we  from  our  very  birth,  prone  to  evil 
"  as  the  sparks  fly  upward ;"  but  we  are  also  by 


A     GRANDFATHER.  |3 

nature  under  condemnation.  In  the  language  of 
that  incomparable  Catechism,  with  which  you  have 
been  familiar  from  lisping  infancy — and  every  doc- 
trine of  which,  as  I  believe,  is  drawn  from  the 
Bible — "All  mankind  by  their  fall  lost  communion 
with  God,  are  under  his  wrath  and  curse,  and  so 
made  liable  to  all  the  miseries  of  this  life,  to  death 
itself,  and  to  the  pains  of  hell  forever." 

Such  is  the  condition  of  our  race  by  nature. 
Not  only  depraved  and  unworthy,  but  guilty,  con- 
demned, and  perishing ;  not  only  in  danger  of  be- 
ing forever  lost ;  but  already  under  a  sentence  of 
death,  unless  rescued  from  it  by  the  power  and 
grace  of  the  Saviour.  All  the  posterity  of  Adam 
are  by  nature,  "  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins," 
having  no  resources  within  themselves  for  regaining 
the  favour  and  image  of  God.  "  The  carnal  mind 
is  enmity  against  God ;  it  is  not  in  subjection  to 
the  law  of  God,  neither  indeed  can  be."  So  that, 
left  to  ourselves,  we  should  infallibly  go  on  in  sin 
to  eternal,  merited,  and  hopeless  destruction. 

Here  you  are,  then,  dear  children,  in  a  revolted, 
polluted,  lost  world,  where  the  vast  majority  of  the 
population  is  in  open  rebellion  against  God ;  where^ 
the  prevailing  habits  and  maxims  are  selfish,  car- 
nal, and  opposed  to  all  that  is  truly  and  spiritually 
good;  where,  if  you  fall  in,  and  continue  to  go 
with  the  prevailing  current,  you  are  inevitably  and 
eternally  lost ;  where  your  only  safety  consists  in 
renouncing  the  world,  its  idols,  its  master,  and  its 


14  LETTERS     OF 

hopes ;  in  "  crucifying  the  flesh  with  its  affections 
and  lusts ;  in  resisting  the  fashions  and  allurements 
which  reign  around  you ;  and  taking  refuge  in  that 
Saviour,  who  came  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which 
was  lost.  Such  are  the  temptations  and  perils 
with  which  you  are  constantly  and  every  where 
surrounded;  and  such  your  only  refuge.  And, 
what  greatly  adds  to  your  danger  is,  that  if  the 
representation  which  I  have  given  be  correct,  your 
own  hearts  are  naturally  disposed  to  take  the  side 
of  the  enemy,  and  to  betray  you  into  his  toils  and 
his  power.  So  that  you  are  like  persons  travel- 
ling in  an  enemies'  country,  and  liable  every  mo- 
ment to  be  taken  in  some  insidious  and  fatal  snare, 
and  whose  own  inclinations  to  yield  to  the  enemy 
are  among  their  greatest  dangers.  These  are  the 
humbling  facts  which  it  behoves  you  constantly  to 
keep  in  view,  and  to  regard  as  the  great  practical 
index  of  all  your  plans,  resolutions,  and  efforts,  as 
long  as  you  live. 

And  as  you  can  never  be  truly  wise  until  you 
learn  the  corruption  of  your  own  nature,  and 
how  indispensably  you  need  pardoning  mercy, 
fsanctifying  grace,  and  unceasing  guidance  and  help 
from  on  high ;  so  you  are  not  prepared  to  begin 
your  intercourse  with  a  corrupt  world,  until  you 
have  learned  to  appreciate  the  real  character  of 
human  nature  as  it  appears  in  all  the  walks  of 
social  life.  The  young,  anterior  to  experience — and 
indeed  many,  long  after  experience  ought  to  have 


AGRANDFATHER.  J5 

taught  them  otherwise — are  too  ready  to  put  conti- 
dence  in  the  professions  and  arts  of  men.  They 
are  apt  to  beheve  the  flattering  tongue ;  to  rely  on 
plausible  promises;  to  trust  heartless  professions 
of  attachment;  to  repose  confidence  in  civilities 
never  meant  to  be  accepted ;  and  to  expect  much 
from  protestations  of  kindness,  and  assurances  of 
friendship — all  dictated  by  the  merest  selfishness, 
and  never  intended  to  be  fulfilled.  Rely  on  it, 
dear  children,  yyou  live  in  a  cold,  selfish,  heartless 
world.  Its  civihties  are  hollow ;  its  promises  are 
deceitful;  its  flatteries  are  insidious;  its  most 
splendid  attractions  are  delusive.  Expect  little  from 
the  warmest  professions,  and  be  very  backward 
to  avail  yourselves  of  the  most  fervent  proffers 
of  friendship.  I  am  far,  indeed,  from  recommend- 
ing a  misanthropic  suspicion  of  every  body.  Your 
parents  and  grandparents  ought  to  be  the  last  per- 
sons in  the  world  to  indulge  or  recommend  such  a 
spirit.  They  have  been  so  happy  as  to  enjoy 
friendships  sincere,  disinterested,  active,  and  un- 
wearied, never  to  be  forgotten.  For  these  they 
would  be  thankful,  and  enjoin  it  upon  you  never  to 
forget  such  precious  friends.  But  remember,  that 
social  confidence  is  a  plant  of  slow  growth ;  that 
there  are  few  cases  in  which  it  can  be  safely  indul- 
ged ;  that  where  it  exists,  great  care  ought  to  be 
taken  not  to  abuse  it  by  laying  too  much  upon  it; 
and  that,  while  you  ought  to  receive  all  expressions 
of  civility  and  respect  with  a  suitable  acknowledg- 


|g  LETTERSOF 

merit,  nothing  can  be  more  unwise  and  unsafe  in 
such  a  world  as  this,  than  to  trust  indiscriminately 
to  the  professions  and  promises  of  men. 

If  such  be  our  deplorable  circumstances,  as  a 
race,  and  as  individuals,  then  we  need  deliverance. 
We  need  salvation.  To  this  great  subject  I  would 
next  entreat  your  attention. 


IS 


A     GRANDFATHER.  J'^ 


LETTER    III. 

THE     WAY     OF     SALVATION. 

Dear  Children: — Salvation  is  a  word  often  on 
your  lips,  and  on  the  lips  of  many  around  you. 
The  truly  pious  look  forward  to  it  with  humble, 
joyful  hope.  And  those  who  have  no  piety,  and 
even  the  profane  and  profligate  often  speak  of  it  as 
something  which  they  desire  and  anticipate.  But 
what  is  SALVATION  ?  The  very  expression  presup- 
poses that  we  are  all  by  nature  in  a  state  from 
which  we  need  to  be  delivered  or  saved.  We 
never  apply  this  term  to  any  but  those  who  are  in 
danger  of  being  lost.  When  a  man  is  drowning, 
or  in  the  utmost  peril  of  death  in  any  form,  and  by 
the  interposition  of  some  benevolent  and  active 
friend,  is  rescued,  we  say  he  is  saved.  Now  in  a 
similar  sense  is  the  term  used  in  the  case  before 
us.  The  salvation  of  man  implies  that  he  is,  by 
nature  not  only  in  danger,  but  in  a  lost  and 
perishing  condition.  Accordingly  I  told  you,  my 
dear  children,  in  the  preceding  letter,  that  our 
whole  race,  and  you  among  the  rest,  are,  by 
nature  in  a  state  of  guilt,  depravity,  and  misery ; 
that  we  are  fallen  creatures ;  under  condemnation ; 
exposed  to  the  wrath  and  curse  of  God ;  liable  not 
only  to  natural  death,  but  also  exposed  to  all  the 
3 


2g  LETTERSOF 

terrors  of  eternal  death,  that  is,  of  eternal  separa- 
tion from  the  presence  of  the  Lord,  and  the  glory 
of  his  power,  unless  delivered,  or,  in  other  words, 
saved  by  the  interposition  of  some  mighty  and 
merciful  deliverer.  Such  a  great  Deliverer  has 
appeared  to  save  sinners  of  our  race; — to  "put 
away  sin  by  the  sacrifice  of  himself."  And  now, 
the  word  of  God  assures  us,  that  there  is  "no 
other  name  given  under  heaven  among  men 
whereby  we  can  be  saved,  but  the  name  of  Jesus 
Christ." 

It  is  my  earnest  desire,  dear  children,  to  open 
this  way  of  salvation  to  your  minds,  and  to  recom- 
mend it  to  your  serious  and  solemn  attention. 
Believe  me,  "  it  is  not  a  vain  thing  for  you,  it  is 
even  your  life,"  Unless  you  are,  by  the  grace  of 
God  made  partakers  of  this  great  salvation,  it  "  had 
been  better  for  you  that  you  had  not  been  born." 

By  the  salvation  revealed  in  the  Gospel  is  meant, 
delivering  us  from  all  the  ruins  of  the  fall — from 
the  condemnation  of  sin  and  the  power  of  sin — 
restoring  us  to  the  favour  and  image  of  God — and 
bringing  us  to  the  everlasting  enjoyment  of  his 
presence  in  heaven.  This  is  salvation.  Now  I 
wish  to  show  you  how  this  great  and  blessed 
result  is  accomplished  by  the  undertaking  and 
work  of  Jesus  Christ,  whom  we  are  accustomed, 
on  that  account,  to  denominate,  with  emphasis, 
our  Saviour, 

Man  was  made  upright ;  in  full  possession  of  all 


A      GRANDFATHER.  JQ 

the  powers  necessary  to  perfect  moral  agency,  and 
with  all  the  dispositions  which  prompted  to  a 
perfectly  correct  use  of  those  powers.  But  "  man 
being  in  honour  abode  not."  He  rebelled  against 
God.  He  violated  the  covenant  under  which  he 
was  placed,  and  became  liable  to  the  dreadful 
penalty  which  it  denounced  against  transgression. 
In  this  fall  of  our  first  parents  we  are  all  sharers. 
"  In  Adam,"  says  the  apostle,  "all  die."  "  By  one 
man's  disobedience,"  he  again  declares,  "  many 
M^ere  made  sinners."  We  have  all  totally  lost  our 
original  righteousness;  so  that  there  is  now,  by 
nature,  "  none  righteous,  no  not  one."  In  short, 
we  have  all  become  guilty  and  polluted  before 
God,  and  incapable  of  regaining  his  image  or  his 
favour  by  any  merit  or  doings  of  our  own.  How, 
then  are  we  to  be  delivered  from  these  deplorable 
circumstances  ?  How  shall  we  escape  that  perdi- 
tion which  is  the  just  reward  of  sin?  "  How  can 
we  escape  the  damnation  of  hell?"  How  can  any 
be  saved?  God  cannot  set  aside  his  own  law,  or 
permit  his  authority  and  majesty,  as  a  righteous 
Governor,  to  be  trampled  under  foot.  To  "  clear 
the  guilty;"  to  take  impenitent  rebels  into  the 
arms  of  his  love,  would  be  to  "  deny  himself." 
Where,  then,  is  our  refuge?  Must  we  sit  dow'n 
in  despair,  and  say,  "There  is  no  hope?  No,  by 
no  means.  A  God  of  infinite  wisdom,  power,  and 
love,  has  devised  and  proclaimed  a  wonderful  plan 
by  which  sin  was  punished  while   the  sinner   is 


20  LETTERS      OF 

pardoned;  by  which  justice  is  completely  satisfied, 
while  mercy  is  extended  to  the  guilty  and  vile ;  by 
which  "grace  reigns  through  righteousness,  unto 
eternal  life,  by  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.'* 

This  wonderful  and  glorious  plan  of  mercy 
consisted  in  the  Father  giving  his  own  Son  to 
obey,  suffer,  and  die  in  our  stead,  as  our  substi- 
tute ;  and  in  the  Son  consenting  to  bear  the  penalty 
of  the  law  for  us ;  to  put  away  our  sin  by  the 
sacrifice  of  himself;  and  to  bring  in  an  everlast- 
ing righteousness  for  our  justification.  Yes,  dear 
children,  however  coldly  an  unbelieving  world 
may  receive  the  amazing  annunciation,  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  the  eternal  Son  of  God,  conde- 
scended, in  his  wonderful  love,  to  assume  our 
nature;  to  take  the  place  of  the  guilty  and  the 
perishing;  and  to  become  the  victim  of  Divine 
justice  in  their  stead.  His  language,  in  the  eternal 
counsel  of  peace,  was,  "  Let  me  suflfer  instead  of 
the  guilty.  Let  me  die  to  save  them.  Deliver 
them  from  going  down  to  the  pit;  I  will  be  their 
ransom."  This  wonderfiil,  this  unparalleled  offer 
was  accepted.  The  Father  was  well  pleased  for 
the  righteousness  sake  of  his  Son.  He  accepted 
it  as  the  price  of  our  pardon ;  as  that  on  account 
of  which  all  who  repent  and  believe  should  be 
justified.  So  that  the  Scriptures  may  well  say 
concerning  the  Saviour — He  is  the  end  of  the  law 
for  righteousness  to  every  one  that  believeth. 
He  is  the  Lord  our    righteousness.      He  was 


A     GRANDFATHER.  21 

wounded  for  our  transgressions;  he  ivas  bruised 
for  our  iniquities;  the  chastisement  of  our  peace 
was  upon  him;  and  by  his  stripes  we  are  healed. 
He  bare  our  sins  in  his  own  body  on  the  tree. 
He  died  the  just  for  the  unjust^  that  he  might 
bring  us  to  God.  He  delivered  us  from  the 
curse  of  the  law^  being  made  a  curse  for  us. 

Here  then,  dear  children,  is  the  way,  and  the 
only  way  of  a  sinner's  acceptance  with  God.  In 
virtue  of  the  covenant  of  redemption,  the  righteous- 
ness of  Christ,  or  what  he  did  and  suffered  on  our 
behalf,  is  placed  to  the  account  of  his  people,  as 
if  they  had  performed  it  in  their  own  persons. 
Though  sinful  and  unworthy  in  themselves,  God 
is  pleased  to  pardon  and  accept  them  as  righteous 
in  his  sight,  only  for  the  righteousness  sake  of  his 
beloved  Son.  I  am  aware,  indeed,  that  some  who 
speak  much  of  "  the  merits  of  Christ,"  and  profess 
to  rely  entirely  on  those  merits,  represent  the 
whole  subject  in  a  very  different  light.  They 
suppose  that  in  consideration  of  the  sufferings  and 
death  of  our  blessed  Saviour,  the  old,  original  law 
of  God,  requiring  perfect  obedience,  is  repealed, 
and  a  mitigated  law  now  prescribed  as  the  rule  of 
our  obedience.  So  that  now,  under  the  Christian 
dispensation,  a  perfect  obedience  is  not  even  re- 
quired, but  only  an  imperfect  one,  accommodated 
to  our  fallen  condition  and  our  many  infirmities. 
But  still,  they  insist,  that  this  imperfect  obedience 
is  the  meritorious  ground  of  our  acceptance  with 
3* 


22  LETTERS   OF 

God ;  and,  of  course,  that  eternal  life  is  the  pur- 
chase of  our  own  obedience.  In  short,  the  doc- 
trine of  these  errorists  is,  that  the  benefit  conferred 
by  the  sufferings  and  death  of  Christ,  consists,  not 
in  providing  an  entire  righteousness  for  us,  but 
only  in  abating  the  demands  of  the  law ;  in  bring- 
ing down  the  divine  requisitions  more  to  a  level 
with  our  ability ;  and  still  enabling  us,  low  as  we 
have  fallen,  to  be  the  purchasers  of  salvation  by  our 
own  works. 

Be  assured,  dear  children,  this  view  of  the  sub- 
ject is  a  grievous  departure  from  the  Scriptural 
doctrine  concerning  the  way  of  salvation.  The 
Bible  represents  our  pardon  and  acceptance  with 
God  as  not  founded,  in  any  respect,  or  in  any 
degree,  on  our  own  obedience ;  but  as  wholly  of 
grace — ^as  a  mere  unmerited  gift,  bestowed  solely 
on  account  of  what  the  Redeemer  has  done  as  our 
substitute  and  surety.  It  represents  the  holy  law 
of  God  as  remaining  in  all  its  original  strictness 
without  repeal  or  mitigation ;  and  as  falling  with 
the  whole  weight  of  its  penalty  on  all  the  impeni- 
tently  guilty.  But  it  declares  that  penalty  to  be 
removed  from  those  who  repent  and  believe  the 
Gospel,  not  on  account  of  any  worthiness  in  them- 
selves, as  the  meritorious  ground  of  the  benefit; 
but  only  on  account  of  the  perfect  righteousness  of 
Him  who  came  to  seek  and  save  those  who  were 
lost.  In  short,  a  gracious  God  saves  his  people 
not  by  overlooking  their  sins ;  but  by  lifting  the 


A     GRANDFATHER.  23 

penalty  from  them,  and  laying  it  upon  the  divine 
Redeemer,  and  for  his  sake  letting  them  go  free, 
and  accepting  them  solely  on  account  of  his  merit. 
This  righteousness  of  Jehovah  the  Saviour  is 
said  to  be  "  to  all,  and  upon  all  them  that  be- 
lieve;"— that  is,  it  is  imputed  to  none — set  to  the 
account  of  none  but  those  who  receive  Christ  by 
faith.  Faith  is  that  great  master  grace  by  which 
we  become  united  to  the  Saviour,  and  interested  in 
his  atonement.  This  righteousness,  therefore,  is 
called  the  righteoimiess  of  faiths  and  the  right- 
eousness of  God  by  faith.  Hence  we  are  said  to 
he  justified  by  faith,  and  to  be  saved  by  faith. 
Not  that  faith,  as  an  act  of  ours,  is,  in  any 
measure,  the  ground  of  our  justification;  but  all 
these  expressions  imply,  that  there  is  an  insepara- 
ble connexion,  in  the  economy  of  grace,  between 
believing  in  Christ,  and  being  justified  by  him,  or 
having  his  righteousness  imputed  to  us.  Happy, 
thrice  happy  they,  who  can  thus  call  the  Saviour 
theirs,  and  who  have  thus  "  received  the  atone- 
ment!" Though  unworthy  in  themselves,  they 
are  graciously  pronounced  righteous  by  their 
heavenly  Judge,  on  account  of  what  the  Mediator 
has  done.  Their  sins,  though  many,  are,  for  his 
sake,  forgiven  them.  They  are  freely  justified 
from  all  things  from  lohich  they  could  not  be  jus- 
tified by  the  law  of  Moses.  They  are  "  accepted  in 
the  Beloved."  Though  polluted  and  undeserving  in 
their  own  character,  they  are  "  complete  in  Him." 


24  LETTERSOF 

There  is  no  condemnation  to  them  now;  and  in 
the  day  of  judgment  they  shall  find,  to  their  eternal 
joy,  that  there  is  both  safety  and  happiness  in 
appearing  in  the  righteousness  of  Him  who  loved 
sinners,  and  gave  himself  for  them,  clothed  in 
"  robes  which  have  been  washed  and  made  white 
in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb." 

But  we  not  only  need  to  be  justified  by  the 
righteousness  of  Christ;  we  also  indispensably 
need  to  be  sanctified  by  the  Spirit  of  Christ. 
Accordingly,  the  purification  of  our  nature,  as  well 
as  the  pardon  of  our  sins,  is  one  of  the  benefits 
purchased  by  Him,  and  secured  by  covenant  to  all 
believers.  Hence  the  teaching  and  the  sanctifying 
power  of  the  Holy  Spirit  must  be  regarded  as  an 
essential  part  of  the  great  salvation  of  which  I  am 
speaking.  We  need  as  much  to  be  delivered  from 
the  love  of  sin  as  from  its  condemnation.  And  for 
both,  the  plan  of  mercy  held  forth  in  the  Gospel 
of  Christ,  makes  equal  and  effectual  provision. 
"  Whom  he  justifies,  them  he  also  sanctifies ;  and 
whom  he  sanctifies,  them  he  also  glorifies."  By 
the  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  dominion  of  sin 
is  broken  in  the  hearts  of  all  who  are  brought 
under  the  power  of  the  Gospel.  The  reign  of 
corruption  in  the  soul  is  destroyed ;  the  love  of  it 
is  taken  away ;  and  though  not  perfectly  sanctified 
in  the  present  life,  yet  every  believer  has  his  sanc- 
tification  begun.  It  is  carried  on,  not  by  his  own 
wisdom  or  strength,  but  by  the  same  divine  power 


A     GRANDFATHER.  25 

by  which  it  was  commenced ;  until  he  is,  at  last, 
made  perfectly  holy,  as  well  as  perfectly  happy  in 
the  presence  of  his  God  and  Saviour. 

Thus  does  it  appear  that  salvation  is  all  of  grace, 
sovereign,  unmerited  grace.  The  original  devising 
of  the  plan,  in  the  eternal  counsels  of  peace,  was 
prompted,  not  by  any  foresight  of  faith  and  holi- 
ness in  the  fallen  creature;  but  in  mere  grace. 
The  plan  itself,  in  all  its  principles  and  provis- 
ions makes  our  salvation  perfectly  gratuitous,  and 
wholly  excludes  all  human  merit.  After  the  plan 
was  formed  and  executed,  and  the  knowledge  of  it 
imparted  to  us,  no  one  would  ever  accept  of  it,  did 
not  the  same  grace  which  formed  it,  incline  the 
sinner  to  lay  aside  his  native  opposition,  and  accept 
of  the  offered  mercy.  And  even  after  cordially 
accepting  it,  no  individual  would  ever  cleave  to  his 
hope,  and  continue  to  embrace  it,  and  live  under  its 
power,  were  he  not  "  kept  by  the  power  of  God 
through  faith  unto  salvation." 

After  the  foregoing  statement,  the  great  question 
is,  what  message  does  this  plan  of  salvation  bring 
to  YOU?  The  message  which  it  brings,  dear  chil- 
dren, is  an  unspeakably  solemn  one.  It  charges 
you  with  being  sinners — miserable  sinners  in  the 
sight  of  God — without  merit — without  help,  and 
without  hope  in  yourselves.  It  offers  you  peace, 
and  pardon,  and  sanctification,  and  eternal  life, 
through  the  atoning  sacrifice  of  the  blessed  Re- 
deemer.    It  entreats  you   to  lay   aside   your  en- 


26  LETTERS     OF 

mity,  and  to  receive  these  benefits  with  humble 
and  adoring  gratitude,  as  a  free,  unmerited  gift, 
"  through  the  redemption  that  is  in  Christ  Jesus." 
Its  language  is,  "  Whosoever  will,  let  him  come, 
and  take  of  the  water  of  life  freely."  And  again, 
*'  Whosoever  cometh  to  me,  I  will  in  no  wise  cast 
out."  It  calls  upon  you  to  renounce  all  confidence 
in  yourselves,  and  to  receive  and  rest  on  Christ 
alone  for  salvation  as  he  is  freely  oflfered  in  the 
Gospel ;  to  receive  him  as  the  Lord  your  righteous- 
ness, and  the  Lord  your  strength,  and  rejoice  in 
him  as  your  only  hope.  To  this  end,  it  is  indis- 
pensable that  you  be  convinced  of  sin ;  that  you 
experience  a  deep  and  cordial  sense  of  your  own 
sinfulness  and  unworthiness ;  that  you  despair  of 
saving  yourselves  ;  that  you  fall  at  the  footstool  of 
sovereign  grace,  feeling  that  you  deserve  to  die, 
and  that  you  can  have  no  hope  but  in  the  atoning 
blood,  and  sanctifying  Spirit  of  the  Redeemer.  It 
is  your  duty  and  your  privilege  to  go  to  the  Saviour 
at  once,  and  cast  yourselves  on  his  mercy,  without 
waiting  for  any  qualifications  to  render  you  worthy 
of  his  favour.  You  are  commanded  to  go  to  him 
as  miserable,  helpless  sinners,  not  with  a  price  in 
your  hands ;  but  to  receive  from  him  all  that  you 
need  to  make  you  holy  and  happy  here  and  here- 
after. And  until  you  are  prepared  thus  to  go  to 
him,  as  miserable,  unworthy  sinners,  who  deserve 
God's  wrath  and  curse  forever ;  until  you  sincerely 
feel  that  you  have  nothing  to  plead  but  the  merit 


A     GRANDFATHER.  27 

of  another ;  until  you  are  ready  to  cast  yourselves 
at  the  feet  of  the  Saviour,  and  to  be  indebted  for 
pardon  and  eternal  life  as  a  mere  gift  of  grace,  you 
have  yet  to  learn  the  vital  element  of  practical  reli- 
gion. 

Dear  children!  will  you  hesitate  a  moment — 
will  you  wait  for  a  second  invitation  to  accept  of 
such  a  Saviour  ?  Will  you  turn  away  with  ingrati- 
tude from  such  a  salvation  ?  Listen  to  the  entreaty 
of  one  who  loves  you,  and  who  has  no  stronger 
desire  concerning  you  than  to  see  you  walking  in 
the  Spirit,  and  enjoying  the  consolation  of  the 
Gospel :  or  rather  listen  to  the  voice  of  that  blessed 
Saviour  himself  who  died  for  sinners;  and  who 
says  to  you,  and  to  all  who  hear  the  Gospel — 
"  Come  unto  me  all  ye  who  labour  and  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.  Him  that  cometh 
unto  me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out." 

Think  not,  I  beseech  you,  of  putting  off  this 
acceptance  of  the  Saviour's  love  until  you  are  far- 
ther advanced  in  life.  Do  you  forget  that  "  the 
ways  of  wisdom  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all 
her  paths  peace,"  and  that  you  cannot  too  soon 
begin  to  be  happy  ?  Besides,  have  you  any  assu- 
rance that  you  will  live  to  be  much  more  advanced 
in  age  than  you  now  are?  Not  long  since,  a 
graduate  of  one  of  our  colleges  was  heard  to  say, 
"  I  have  finished  my  college  education.  I  will 
now  devote  two  years  to  the  study  of  a  profession  ; 
and  ilien  I  will  take  one  year  to  see  what  there  is 


28  LETTERS     OF 

in  that  mighty  thing  they  call  religion."  So 
calculated  this  careless,  blooming  youth.  But  be- 
fore his  plan  was  half  accomplished,  he  suddenly 
fell  sick;  was  seized  with  delirium;  and  died 
without  hope.  But  there  are  facts,  dear  children, 
which  ought  to  come  nearer  home.  Can  you  for- 
get your  beloved  brother  and  sisters,  who,  in  the 
very  threshold  of  their  existence,  were  cut  down, 
and  laid  in  the  grave  ?  And  what  security  have 
you  that  you  will  live  to  see  another  year  ?  But 
even  if  you  are  permitted  to  live  until  you  reach 
adult  age,  or  until  you  are  old  and  grey-headed, 
what  reason  have  you  to  hope,  if  you  go  on  hard- 
ening yourselves  against  the  Gospel  until  that  time, 
that  you  will  then  have  grace  given  you  to  "  con- 
sider your  ways?"  O,  how  many  who  were  in 
youth  thoughtful  and  tender,  have  become  more 
and  more  callous  to  every  serious  impression,  as 
they  advanced  in  life,  and  have,  at  length,  sunk 
into  the  grave  without  hope !  Be  entreated,  then, 
dear  children,  now,  while  your  hearts  are  tender ; 
before  the  world  has  twined  around  them  a  thou- 
sand entanglements ;  before  you  become  hardened 
by  inveterate  habits  of  sin ;  be  entreated  to  make 
choice  of  that  "  good  hope  through  grace,"  which 
will  form  the  best  treasure,  and  the  only  effectual 
pledge  of  safety  and  happiness  in  the  voyage  of 
life :  the  treasure  which  is  emphatically  "  that 
good  part  which  can  never  be  taken  away  from 
you." 


A     GRANDFATHER.  29 


LETTER    IV 


THE     BIBLE. 

Dear  Children: — If  you  were  walking,  in  a 
dark  night,  along  a  road  full  of  sloughs,  and  pits, 
and  snares,  and  dangers  of  every  kind,  what  would 
you  do  for  safety  ?  You  would  naturally,  if  you 
could  obtain  it,  take  a  light  in  your  hands.  You 
would  also,  if  possible,  engage  a  guide,  strong  and 
faithful,  well  acquainted  with  the  road,  and  quali- 
fied to  conduct  and  defend  you.  And,  besides  all 
this,  you  would  vigilantly  look  around  you  at 
every  step,  and  eagerly  mark  and  avoid  every  spot 
that  had  a  suspicious  or  doubtful  appearance. 

Your  situation,  dear  children,  in  the  journey  of 
life,  is  precisely  such  as  I  have  described;  or 
rather,  I  ought  to  say,  "  the  half  has  not  been  told 
you."  You  are  just  entering  on  a  world,  dark, 
corrupt,  and  full  of  allurement  and  danger.  On 
every  side  enemies  lie  in  wait  to  deceive  and  be- 
tray. You  are  and  will  be  exposed  to  a  thousand 
temptations  and  perils  from  which  you  have  no 
wisdom  or  strength  to  deliver  yourselves.  You 
need  direction  and  guidance  at  every  step.  Now 
the  Bible  presents  the  only  complete  and  perfect 
map  of  the  road  which  you  are  travelling.  It  was 
4 


30  LETTERS     OF 

given  us  to  be  "a  light  to  our  feet,  and  a  lamp  to 
our  path."  It  exhibits,  with  unerring  fidelity, 
every  enemy,  every  snare,  every  danger  which 
beset  your  path.  It  gives  all  the  information,  all 
the  warning,  all  the  caution,  and  all  the  encourage- 
ment which  you  need.  It  tells  you,  more  perfectly 
than  any  other  book,  all  that  you  have  to  fear,  and 
all  that  you  have  to  hope  for.  There  is  not  a  form 
of  error,  or  of  corruption,  against  which  it  does  not 
put  you  on  your  guard;  nor  an  excellence  or  a 
duty  which  it  does  not  direct  you  how  to  cultivate 
and  attain.  "  Wherewith,"  asks  the  Psalmist, 
*' shall  the  young  cleanse  their  way?" — "By 
taking  heed  thereto,"  he  replies,  "according  to 
thy  word."  No  one  ever  made  this  holy  Book 
the  guide  of  his  hfe,  without  walking  wisely, 
safely,  and  happily;  without  finding  the  truest 
enjoyment  in  this  world,  and  eternal  blessedness 
in  the  world  to  come. 

Can  you  wonder,  then,  beloved  children,  that  I 
place  a  high  value  on  this  blessed  Book;  that  I 
earnestly  recommend  it  to  your  serious  attention, 
to  your  constant  study,  and  to  your  devout  and 
affectionate  application  and  confidence  ?  Can  you 
wonder  that  I  should  delight  to  see  it  daily  in  your 
hands ;  much  of  its  sacred  contents  committed  to 
your  memory;  and  your  hearts  deeply  imbued 
with  its  spirit  and  its  power?  You,  no  doubt, 
remember  how  earnestly  your  precious  Mother, 
now  gone  to  the  God  who  gave  this  Book,  recom- 


A     GRANDFATHER.  31 

mended  it  to  your  attention ;  how  assiduously  she 
put  it  into  your  hands ;  how  often  she  constrained 
you  to  commit  portions  of  it  to  memory ;  and  how 
frequently,  on  Sabbath  evenings,  she  gathered  you 
round  her  to  recite  those  portions  in  her  hearing, 
and  to  receive  her  instructions  and  counsels  in 
regard  to  them.  Can  you  ever  forget  these  scenes, 
and  the  solemn,  tender  lessons  which  you  then 
received?  Call  to  mind  her  earnest  looks,  her 
affectionate  tones,  her  unceasing  labour  to  impress 
me  contents  of  this  sacred  Book  on  your  minds 
and  hearts.  Think  of  these  things;  and  if  you 
can  recollect  them  without  gratitude  to  God  for 
such  a  mother,  and  without  tears  of  regret  that  you 
have  not  profited  more  by  her  faithful  counsels, 
you  have  less  moral  feehng,  and  less  filial  sensi- 
bility than  I  have  been  accustomed  to  give  you 
credit  for. 

Why  is  it,  my  dear  children,  that  so  many 
young  people  regard  the  Bible  with  aversion,  and 
consider  the  study  of  its  pages,  and  especially  com- 
mitting them  to  memory,  as  a  task  and  a  burden  ? 
When  we  reflect  that  it  is  sent  to  us  from  heaven ; 
that  it  contains  the  glad  tidings  of  peace,  and  love, 
and  salvation  to  a  lost  world ;  that  it  is  besides  full 
of  the  noblest  specimens  of  literary  beauty,  and  of 
tender  pathetic  eloquence  that  the  world  ever  saw ; 
that  there  is  something  in  it  adapted  to  touch  the 
finest  and  best  cords  of  human  sensibility — why  is 
it  that  you  so  often  feel  aversion  to  the  study  of 


32  LETTERS     OF 

this  volume,  and  would  gladly  be  excused  from 
the  task  of  perusing  its  chapters  ?  Alas !  dear 
children,  this  is  one  of  the  many  proofs  that  your 
nature,  as  I  before  stated,  is  depraved;  and  that 
you  need  the  renewing  and  sanctifying  power  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  before  you  can  understand  and 
relish  a  book  given  by  his  inspiration.  Every 
feeling  of  reluctance  to  the  study  of  this  Book 
which  you  experience,  ought  to  fill  you  with 
alarm,  and  to  constrain  you  to  cry  mightily  to  God 
that  he  would  open  your  eyes  and  your  hearts,  and 
give  you  that  taste  for  the  best  of  all  books,  without 
which  you  cannot  be  prepared  for  the  joys  of  his 
presence.  Consider,  I  beseech  you,  that,  as  you 
have  been  made  acquainted  with  this  Book  from 
your  earliest  childhood,  so  you  will  have  to  give 
an  account  for  this  knowledge.  Many  children 
around  you  have  never  had  the  Bible  put  into  their 
hands ;  have  never  been  taught  to  venerate  and  love 
its  sacred  pages ;  but  you  have  been  informed  of 
its  origin  and  value.  You  have  enjoyed  a  privi- 
lege denied  to  thousands.  Will  you  not  be  grate- 
ful for  this  privilege  ?  Will  you  not  manifest  that 
you  know  how  to  prize  a  gift  of  more  value  than 
all  the  world  beside  ?  Can  you  deliberately  con- 
sent to  meet  the  dreadful  condemnation  of  those 
who,  from  childhood,  "  knew  the  Master's  will, 
and  did  it  not." 

I  hope  I  need  not  remind  you  that  the  Book  of 
God  is  to  be  read  with  feelings  and  in  a  manner 


#« 


A     GRANDFATHER.  33 


very  different  from  those  with  which  you  read  all 
other  books.  When  you  have  read  books  of 
human  composition  once  or  twice,  you  have  gotten 
from  them  all  they  contain — you  have  done  with 
them.  But  with  the  perusal  of  the  Bible  you  can 
never  have  done.  The  oftener  you  go  over  it,  if 
you  feel  as  you  ought,  the  richer  and  more  delight- 
ful will  it  appear.  You  can  never  exhaust  its 
meaning  or  its  interest.  Like  its  divine  Author,  it 
has  a  length  and  breadth  and  depth  and  height, 
concerning  which  no  human  reader  can  ever  say 
that  he  has  completely  fathomed  its  meaning,  or 
measured  its  riches. 

Other  books  are  to  be  read  with  attention,  and, 
if  they  abound  with  truth  and  wisdom,  with  res- 
pect ;  but  the  Book  of  God  is  to  be  read  with  the 
deepest  veneration,  as  containing  the  mind   and 
will  of  our  heavenly  Sovereign.   In  fact,  every  line 
of  it  is  to  be  considered  as  the  voice  of  God  speak- 
ing to  us.     Woe  to  those,  whether  young  or  aged, 
who  can  handle  the  Bible  with  levity,  make  sport 
of  its  contents,  or  recite  its  solemn  language  as 
matter   of  jest !     The   Lord   will  not  hold  them 
guiltless  who  thus,  practically,  "  take  his  name  in 
vain."     The  Mohammedans  manifest  much  more 
reverence  for  their  Koran,  than  many  Christians 
for  the  Bible.     They  never  allow  themselves  to 
touch  it  without  washing  their  hands.     They  han- 
dle it  with  the  most  pointed  respect,  never  holding 
it  lower  than  their  girdles.     Every  copy  of  it  com 


34  LETTERS      OF 

monly  contains  an  inscription  or  label  on  the  cover, 
in  these  words — "  Let  none  touch  but  those  who 
are  clean."  How  very  differently  do  many,  young 
and  old,  among  us,  treat  the  Holy  Scriptures! 
I  have  often  been  distressed  when  I  have  seen 
children  toss  about  their  Bibles,  and  even  throw 
them  in  the  dirt,  as  they  would  the  least  valued  of 
their  play-things,  or  rattle  over  some  of  the  most 
solemn  language  of  the  Bible  with  as  little  appa- 
rent thought  or  respect  as  they  would  repeat  the 
veriest  effusions  of  nonsense. 

The  Bible,  farther,  is  to  be  read  daily,  and  with 
diligence,  as  containing  that  daily  food  from  which 
you  are  to  derive  spiritual  aliment,  and  strength 
continually.  It  is  to  be  read  with  fixed  attention, 
seriously  directing  your  mind  to  its  rich  and  impor- 
tant meaning;  with  humility,  feeling  your  need  of 
the  instruction  and  grace  which  it  contains ;  with 
prayer,  imploring  the  guidance  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
that  he  may  open  your  hearts  to  receive  the  en- 
grafted word  which  is  able  to  save  your  souls; 
with  application — asking  continually — "  How  does 
this  concern  me?  Does  it  describe  m,y  case? 
Does  it  not  contain  a  lesson  which  demands  my 
special  regard  ?  Do  /  know  any  thing  in  my  own 
experience  of  what  is  here  taught?" 

In  this  precious  Book  you  will  find  every  thing 
adapted  to  enlarge  the  mind,  to  gratify  the  taste,  to 
elevate  the  affections,  and  to  purify  the  heart.  If 
you  only  sought  the  richest  entertainment,  you 


A     GRANDFATHER.  35 

could  not  open  a  book  more  fitted  to  gratify  you. 
It  is  an  inexhaustible  mine  of  instruction  as  well  as 
of  beauty — the  deeper  you  dig,  the  richer  will  you 
find  its  treasures.  Its  exquisite  simplicity,  its 
pathos,  its  sublimity,  its  heavenly  wisdom,  its 
purity,  are  all  adapted  to  turn  us  away  from  the 
vanities  of  the  world;  to  enlarge  our  views  be- 
yond these  regions  of  disorder  and  darkness ;  to 
strengthen  every  high  and  holy  motive;  and  to 
lead  us  upward  to  Him  who  is  the  source  and  the 
sum  of  all  good.  Happy,  thrice  happy  will  those 
children  and  young  people  be,  who  early  learn  to 
go  to  the  Bible  for  all  their  sentiments,  principles, 
and  rules  of  action ;  who  learn  daily  to  go  to  that 
precious  Book  to  direct  them  in  their  pursuits,  to 
comfort  them  in  their  sorrows,  to  guide  them  in 
their  perplexities,  and  to  animate  them  in  their 
labours  whatever  they  may  be!  Such  have  the 
best  pledge  of  temporal  enjoyment,  and  of  eternal 
blessedness.  When,  therefore,  those  who  love 
you,  and  would  in  some  measure  take  the  place  of 
your  dear  departed  Mother,  daily  put  this  precious 
Book  of  God  into  your  hands,  and  urge  you  to 
read  and  commit  to  memory  a  portion  of  its  con- 
tents, do  not  allow  yourselves  to  regard  it  as  a 
task  or  a  burden.  Think  from  whom  it  comes — 
from  the  God  who  made  you.  Think  of  the  great 
purpose  for  which  it  was  given — to  make  you 
wise  and  eternally  happy.  Think  of  the  only 
means  of  making  it  truly  profitable  to  you — study- 


36  LETTERS     OF 

ing  it  with  devout  attention,  laying  it  up  in  your 
hearts,  and  practising  it  in  your  Uves.  Think  of 
the  solemn  responsibility  which  the  possession  of 
this  Book  lays  upon  you — for  to  whomsoever 
much  is  given,  of  them  shall  much  be  required. 
And  may  the  great  Author  of  this  Book  give  you 
grace  to  "  seek  for  the  heavenly  wisdom  which  it 
contains  as  silver,  and  search  for  it  as  for  hid 
treasures !" 


A     GRANDFATHER.  37 


LETTER    V. 


PRAYER. 


Dear  Children:— "  Prayer  is  the  offering  up  of 
our  desires  to  God,  for  things  agreeable  to  his  will, 
in  the  name  of  Christ,  with  confession  of  our  sins, 
and   thankful   acknowledgment   of  his   mercies." 
This  is  the  definition  given  in  a  Catechism  with 
which  you  are  familiar,  and  a  more  complete  and 
perfect  one  could  scarcely  be  conceived.     It  is  the 
offering  up  of  our  sincere  desires;  for  unless  it  be 
sincere,  it  is  but  solemn  mockery.     It  is  to  be 
addressed  to  God  alone;  for  prayer  addressed  to 
any  created  being,  is  an  act  of  treason  to  our  right- 
ful Sovereign.     It  is  to  be  "  for  things  agreeable  to 
the  divine  will;^'  or  else  it  is  unauthorized  and 
presumptuous.    It  is  always  to  be  presented  in  the 
name  of  Christ;  for  there  is  no  other  name  under 
heaven  given  among  men  whereby  we  can  draw 
near  to  a  holy  God  with  acceptance,  but  the  name 
of  Jesus  Christ.     It   must  be   accompanied  with 
confession  of  sin;  because  the  approach  of  a  sin- 
ner to  God,  without  an  humble  sense  and  acknow- 
ledgment of  unworthiness,  would  be  contrary  to 
every  principle  of  reason,  as  well  as  to  the  Christian 
plan  of  salvation.     And,  finally,  it  ought  to  include 


38  LETTERSOF 

a  thankful  acknowledgment  of  divine  mercies;  for 
without  a  grateful  sense  of  God's  goodness,  we 
cannot  be  in  a  frame  of  mind  fitted  to  receive  far- 
ther favours. 

I  trust,  dear  children,  I  need  not  dwell  long  on 
either  the  reasonableness  or  the  duty  of  prayer. 
If  we  are  entirely  dependent  on  God  for  every 
temporal  and  spiritual  blessing,  then  it  is  surely 
reasonable  that  we  acknowledge  our  dependence, 
and  apply  to  him  with  humility  and  earnestness 
for  his  aid.  If  his  favour  is  life,  and  his  blessing 
the  best  riches,  it  is  evident  that  we  ought  to 
supplicate  them  with  importunity  and  perseverance. 
If  we  are  sinners,  unworthy  of  the  divine  favour, 
we  ought  to  humble  ourselves  at  his  footstool,  and 
make  confession  of  our  sins  with  penitence  and 
obedience.  If  he  has  revealed  a  plan  of  mercy 
and  grace  to  us,  of  which  he  invites  and  commands 
us  to  avail  ourselves,  then  every  principle  of  self 
interest  concurs  with  reason,  in  urging  us  to  seek 
with  earnestness  a  participation  in  that  mercy. 
And  if  our  Maker  and  Redeemer  has,  in  so  many 
words,  commanded  us  *'  by  prayer  and  supplica- 
tion with  thanksgiving  to  make  known  our  re- 
quests to  God,"  who  can  question,  for  a  moment, 
the  reasonableness  of  a  compliance  with  that  com- 
mand? 

Nor  is  the  duty  of  prayer  less  apparent  than  its 
reasonableness.  The  command  of  our  Father  in 
heaven  is — "  Pray  without  ceasing — pray  always 


A     GRANDFATHER.  39 

with  all  prayer  and  supplication,  and  abound  there- 
in with  thanksgiving.     I  will  be  inquired  of  by  my 
people  to  do  that  for  them  which  they  need.     Ask 
and   ye   shall  receive;  seek,  and  ye   shall  find; 
knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  you.     For  if 
ye,  being  evil,  know  how  to  give  good  gifts  unto 
your  children,  how  much  more  shall  your  Father 
in  heaven  give  his  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask 
him?     All   things   whatsoever    ye   shall    ask    in 
prayer,  believing,  ye  shall  receive.     The  effectual, 
fervent  prayer  of  a  righteous  man  availeth  much. 
When   thou  prayest,  enter  into   thy   closet,  and 
when  thou  hast  shut  thy  door,  pray  to  thy  Father 
which  is  in  secret,  and  thy  Father  which  seeth  in 
secret,  shall  reward  thee  openly.     If  any  one  lack 
wisdom,  let  him  ask  of  God,  who  giveth  liberally, 
and  it  shall  be  given  him.     Is  any  afflicted?  let 
him  pray.     Be  careful  for  nothing ;  but  in  every 
thing   by   prayer   and   supplication   with   thanks- 
giving, let  your  requests  be  made  known  to  God. 
The  Lord  is  rich  in  mercy  to  all  that  call  upon 
him.     In  the  day  of  my  trouble  I  called  upon  the 
Lord,  and  he  heard  me,  and  delivered  me  out  of  all 
my  distresses." 

Such  are  some  of  the  numerous  passages  of 
Scripture  which  plainly  require  and  encourage 
prayer.  Can  any  one  who  reads  and  believes  the 
Bible,  doubt  for  a  moment,  that  it  is  equally  his 
duty  and  his  privilege  to  go  daily  to  the  throne  of 
grace  to  supplicate  for  all  the  temporal  or  spiritual 


40  LETTERSOF 

good  which  he  needs  ?  I  hope,  my  dear  children, 
you  will  not  be  disposed  to  say,  notwithstanding 
such  express  and  positive  declarations  of  God's 
word,  in  the  language  of  profane  objectors  of  old — 
*'  Wherefore  should  we  seek  after  God  ?  Does  he 
need  to  be  informed  of  our  wants  ?  Can  we,  by 
importunity,  alter  his  purposes  ?  Where  is,  then, 
the  advantage  of  asking  for  what  we  need  ?  What 
profit  shall  we  have  if  we  pray  unto  him  ?"  If  you 
should  ever  be  tempted  to  ask  such  a  question,  I 
would  answer — "  Much  every  way."  God  has 
connected  our  asking  for  blessings  with  receiving 
them.  He  has  promised  to  hear  and  answer 
prayer.  He  has  condescended  to  say,  that  he  will 
regard  with  all  the  tenderness  of  a  parent's  heart, 
the  cries  of  his  children.  He  has  said  in  his  word, 
"  Ye  have  not,  because  ye  ask  not."  This  is 
enough.  But  it  is  not  all  that  is  worthy  of  our 
attention.  Prayer  is  not  intended  to  inform  God, 
but  to  benefit  ourselves.  It  tends  to  remind  us  of 
our  dependence  and  unworthiness ;  to  impress  our 
hearts  with  a  deeper  sense  of  the  divine  goodness 
and  mercy ;  and  to  beget  in  our  minds  that  humble, 
grateful,  tender  sense  of  our  own  weakness,  and  of 
our  obligation  to  the  Author  of  all  good,  which 
constitute  the  best  preparation  for  receiving  the 
gracious  gifts  of  our  heavenly  Parent. 

While  your  precious,  lamented  Mother  was 
alive,  what  a  privilege  did  you  consider  it  to  be 
allowed  to  go  to  her  in  all  your  troubles,  and  to 


A     GRANDFATHE 


41 


make  known  to  her  all  your  desires !  How  much 
greater  the  privilege  to  be  allowed  every  hour  free 
access  to  your  Father  in  heaven,  with  all  your 
anxieties  and  distresses,  to  pour  out  all  your  wants 
and  wishes,  your  hopes  and  fears  into  the  bosom 
of  an  Almighty  Friend,  who  is  ever  able  and  ready 
10  help ! 

Since,  then,  dear  children,  there  are  so  many 
reasons  prompting  you  to  prayer;  since  you  are 
always  weak,  always  dependant,  always  unworthy, 
and  always  in  need,  can  you  doubt  that  it  is  your 
duty  and  your  interest  to  abound  in  prayer  ?  Let 
me  entreat  you,  therefore,  never  to  suffer  a  day  to 
pass  without  engaging  in  this  delightful  and  most 
reasonable  exercise.  Set  apart  fixed  times  for  the 
purpose,  that  you  may  form  such  habits  as  will 
aid  your  memory,  and  prevent  your  neglecting  it. 
Retire  as  soon  as  you  can,  after  rising  in  the  morn- 
ing, to  return  thanks  for  the  mercies  of  the  night, 
and  to  implore  the  protection,  the  guidance,  and 
the  blessing  of  your  heavenly  Father,  through  the 
day.  And  in  the  evening,  before  drowsiness  over- 
takes you,  retire  again,  to  praise  him  for  the  mer- 
cies of  the  day,  and  to  ask  for  his  guardianship 
during  the  night  watches.  But  are  these  the  only 
subjects  of  prayer?  Far  from  it.  They  are 
numerous  as  the  moments  you  live,  and  various 
as  the  objects  which  you  are  called  to  contemplate. 
Pray  in  the  morning,  that  God  would  keep  you 
from  all  evil  in  body  or  soul,  through  the  day ;  that 
5 


42  LETTERS     OF 

he  would  create  in  you  a  clean  heart,  and  renew 
within  you  a  right  spirit;  that  he  would  guard 
your  speech  and  behaviour  at  all  times,  and  in 
every  situation ;  that  he  would  enable  you  to  mor- 
tify and  subdue  every  sinful  affection,  and  to  over- 
come every  improper  habit ;  that  he  would  deliver 
you  from  sloth,  and  pride,  and  vanity,  and  malice, 
and  envy,  and  every  evil  temper ;  that  he  would 
enable  you  to  treat  all  around  you  in  a  dutiful  and 
becoming  manner ;  in  a  word,  that  he  would  enable 
you  to  spend  the  day  in  a  manner  profitable  to 
yourselves,  and  to  the  benefit  of  all  around  you. 
And  in  the  evening  pray,  that  he  would  pardon  all 
the  deficiencies  and  infirmities  of  the  preceding 
day;  that  he  would  make  you  grateful  for  all  the 
favours  of  his  merciful  Providence ;  that  he  would 
watch  over  you  during  the  hours  of  darkness  and 
repose ;  and  bring  you  to  the  light  of  another  day 
in  health,  in  the  exercise  of  your  reason,  and  in 
the  enjoyment  of  his  favour  and  love. 

And  while  you  thus  pray  daily  for  yourselves, 
it  is  your  privilege  and  duty  to  include  in  your 
petitions  all  with  whom  you  are  connected  in  the 
various  relations  of  life.  You  ought  to  pray  con- 
tinually for  your  beloved /«//ier,  who  is  engaged 
in  such  important  labour  for  the  Church,  and  who 
loves  you  with  an  affection  and  solicitude  which 
you  can  never  repay ;  for  your  grandparents,  who 
are  daily  praying  for  you,  and  who  are  falling 
more  and  more  under  the  infirmities  of  age ;  for 


A     GRANDFATHER.  43 

one  another  J  that  you  may  be  guided  and  blessed 
amidst  all  the  temptations  and  dangers  of  youth ; 
for  your  teachers^  for  your  school-mates;  for  the 
poor  children  around  you,  who  have  none  of  the 
advantages  of  instruction  and  restraint  which  you 
enjoy;  for  your  friends,  and  neighbours,  and  all 
with  whom  you  are  acquainted.  0,  my  dear 
children,  if  you  prayed  as  you  ought  every  day  for 
all  these,  how  much  happier  would  you  be !  What 
a  benign  influence  it  would  have  on  your  whole 
temper  and  conduct!  It  would  make  you  kind, 
tender  hearted,  and  forgiving  toward  all  with  whom 
you  conversed;  and  make  all  of  them,  in  their 
turn,  love  you  as  a  friend  and  benefactor. 

Let  me  make,  on  this  subject,  one  more  sugges- 
tion. Most  people,  especially  most  young  people, 
have  no  idea  of  engaging  in  prayer  unless  at  par- 
ticular times  when  they  retire  for  the  purpose.  I 
wish  you  all,  dear  children,  besides  your  staled 
seasons  of  prayer,  morning  and  evening,  to  form 
the  habit  of  lifting  up  your  thoughts  and  your 
desires  to  God  in  any  and  every  situation ;  when 
walking  by  the  way  ;  when  surrounded  with  com- 
pany ;  when  met  by  any  call  of  duty,  or  by  any 
circumstance  of  a  doubtful  aspect,  or  perplexing 
character — be  in  the  habit  of  silently  but  devoutly- 
looking  up  to  God  for  wisdom  and  strength  to  per- 
form every  duty.  This  kind  of  intercourse  witli 
God  may  be  carried  on  at  all  times,  and  in  all 
situations;  and,  I  will  add,  was  never  sincerely 


44  LETTERS    OF 

adopted  by  any  one  without  being  connected  with 
guidance  and  consolations  of  unspeakable  value. 
In  this  way  the  suggestion  of  the  apostle  in 
writing  to  Timothy  will  be  realized,  that  *'  every 
thing  be  sanctified  by  the  word  of  God,  and 
prayer." 


A     GRANDFATHER.  45 


LETTER    VI. 


CULTIVATION     OT     THE     MIND. 

Dear  Children: — That  every  human  being  is 
bound  to  cuUivate,  in  the  best  manner,  the  intel- 
lectual powers  which  God  has  given  him,  I  hope 
you  will  take  for  granted,  anterior  to  all  argument ; 
and,  although  the  moral  aspects  of  education  are 
the  most  vitally  important,  yet  as  no  one  can  be  a 
moral  agent  without  some  degree  of  intellect ;  so 
it  may  be  said,  that  the  wisest  and  best  culture 
even  of  our  moral  powers,  depends  more  on  the 
discipline,  the  enlargement,  and  the  furniture  of  the 
intellect,  than  is  commonly  supposed. 

The  cultivation  of  the  mind  comprises  two 
things,  and  two  only,  viz :  giving  it  proper  habits 
of  exercise,  and  filling  it  with  useful  knowledge. 
The  case  is  precisely  similar  with  regard  to  the 
body.  The  sum  total  of  all  that  we  are  called  to 
do  for  the  benefit  of  the  body,  is  to  secure  its 
strength  by  constant  and  wholesome  action  or 
exercise,  and  to  furnish  it  with  appropriate  nourisli- 
ment.  On  the  one  hand,  were  its  exercise  ever  so 
abundant,  if  left  widiout  aliment,  it  would  speedily 
sink  into  weakness  and  death;  and,  on  the  other, 
if  its  aliment  be  ever  so  plentiful  and  rich,  yet  if  it 
5* 


46  LETTERS     OF 

be  left  wholly  without  exercise,  it  will  soon  become 
a  mass  of  disease  and  corruption.  Precisely  so  is 
it  in  the  cultivation  of  the  mind.  Exercise  and 
aliment  are  equally  indispensable,  and  must  go 
together.  If  the  mind  be  not  taught  to  think,  and 
to  feel  an  appetite  for  intellectual  provision,  all  the 
knowledge  in  the  world,  if  introduced  into  it, 
would  be  of  little  use.  But,  if  it  be  taught  only  to 
think  and  feel,  and  be  furnished  with  none  of  the 
appropriate  aliment  of  knowledge,  it  cannot  grow 
either  in  strength,  or  in  a  capacity  to  act  its  part  in 
the  world  with  dignity  or  usefulness. 

As  these  principles  lie  at  the  foundation  of  all 
intellectual  culture,  so  they  are  also  adapted  to 
instruct  us  with  regard  to  the  wisest  and  best  means 
of  conducting  that  culture,  with  regard  to  the  de- 
partments of  knowledge  most  worthy  of  being 
studied,  and  the  relative  stress  which  ought  to  be 
laid  on  different  pursuits.  If  you  would  be  trained 
up  merely  to  be  splendid  butterflies,  to  shine  and 
to  please  the  superficial  and  the  empty,  for  a  day, 
and,  having  done  this,  to  die  like  senseless  insects ; 
why,  then,  a  corresponding  plan  of  culture  must 
be  adopted.  But,  if  you  wish  to  be  regarded  as 
rational  creatures ;  to  be  prepared  for  sober  thought 
and  action;  to  "serve  your  generation  by  the  will 
of  God;"  to  die  in  peace,  and  to  be  remembered 
with  love  and  veneration  when  you  are  gone,  then 
it  is  perfectly  manifest  a  very  different  method  of 
training  is  indispensable. 


A    GRANDFATHER.  47 

I  trust  you  will  not  hesitate  a  moment  in 
deciding  which  of  these  courses  you  ought  to 
choose.  I  trust  the  way  of  practical  wisdom,  of 
piety,  and  of  usefulness,  will  be  the  object  of  your 
prompt  and  decisive  choice.  If  so,  the  course  of 
mental  culture  which  you  ought  to  adopt,  cannot 
possibly  be  mistaken  by  a  mind  of  the  least  reflec- 
tion. If  you  are  to  feel  and  act  as  moral  account- 
able agents,  and  to  consider  human  life  as  a  serious, 
momentous  thing;  then,  doubtless,  you  will  feel 
that  you  are  bound,  first  of  all,  and  above  all,  to 
exercise  your  minds  in  such  a  manner,  and  to  store 
them  with  such  branches  of  knowledge,  as  will 
tend  most  effectually  to  enlarge  them,  to  strengthen 
them,  to  inspire  them  with  practical  wisdom,  and 
to  furnish  them  with  the  means  of  the  most  solid 
and  extensive  usefulness. 

Upon  this  principle,  I  would  say,  let  your  first 
and  chief  attention  be  directed  to  those  branches  of 
knowledge  which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  all  that  is 
enlarged,  liberal,  and  elevated  in  human  pursuits ; 
such  as  Grammar,  Rhetoric,  Geography,  the  Latin, 
Greek,  and  French  languages.  Natural  and  Moral 
Philosophy,  the  elements  of  Mathematical  science, 
Chemistry,  and  as  many  of  the  branches  of  Natural 
History  as  may  be  within  your  reach,  especially 
Botany  and  Mineralogy.  These  are  all  proper  for 
both  sexes;  and  the  more  you  gain  of  all  of  them, 
the  better  fitted  will  you  be  both  for  enjoying  life, 
and  for  fulfilling  its  various  and  momentous  duties. 


48  LETTERS     OF 

I  grant,  indeed,  my  dear  grandson,  that  with  regard 
to  what  is  denominated  Classic  literature,  and 
Mathematics,  I  wish  you  to  go  more  thoroughly  to 
work,  than  would  be  desirable,  or  perhaps  proper, 
for  your  sisters.  But  I  hope  that  neither  of  these 
will  be  entirely  neglected  by  them.  For  I  have  an 
impression,  that  the  careful  study,  to  a  certain 
extent,  of  the  best  of  the  dead  languages,  and  an 
intelligent  acquaintance  with  the  elementary  prin- 
ciples of  Mathematics,  ought  to  be  omitted  by  none 
who  can  possibly  attain  them.  In  my  opinion, 
they  are  adapted  to  produce  an  effect  on  the  mind, 
and  to  diffuse  an  influence  over  all  its  other  acqui- 
sitions, more  happy  and  more  important  than  is 
commonly  recognised,  even  by  many  of  the  edu- 
cated themselves. 

Besides  the  popular  sciences  just  mentioned, 
with  which  every  human  being  who  can  afford  it, 
ought  to  seek  some  good  acquaintance,  there  is  an 
extensive  and  important  field  of  knowlege,  which 
is  defined  by  the  general  term  of  literature,  and, 
in  our  case,  of  English  Literature.  There  is  a 
large  class  of  writers,  with  whose  works  every  one 
who  claims  to  be  intelligent  and  well  informed, 
must  be  famihar.  To  this  department  belongs  the 
whole  subject  of  History,  which,  I  trust,  will 
receive  the  serious  attention  of  all  of  you;  and 
about  which  I  hope  you  will  take  enlightened 
advice,  as  a  number  of  the  most  attractive  and 
popular  writers  in  this  department,  are  unfit  to  be 


A     GRANDFATHER.  49 

perused  without  much  reserve  and  caution.  To 
these,  of  course,  ought  to  be  added,  those  great 
writers,  both  in  prose  and  poetry,  which  deserve 
to  be  ranked  as  English  Classics;  and,  with 
which,  I  feel  confident,  you  will  seize  the  earhest 
opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted.  I  refer  to 
such  writers  as  Milton,  Shakspeare,  Dryden,  Ad- 
dison, Steele,  Pope,  Thompson,  Gray,  Young, 
Goldsmith,  Johnson,  Cowper,  Beattie,  and  a  num- 
ber of  others,  whom  I  cannot  pause  to  specify,  but 
with  whom  it  would  be  highly  discreditable  not 
to  have  some  intimate  knowledge.  Without  an 
acquaintance  with  these  writers,  you  cannot  appre- 
ciate the  riches,  the  beauties,  or  the  purity  of  your 
vernacular  tongue,  or  form  for  yourselves  a  good 
style  of  writing.  In  these  writers,  too,  you  will 
find  a  great  store-house  of  fine  sentiment,  as  well 
as  diction,  adapted  greatly  to  enlarge  and  elevate 
the  mind,  to  impart  to  it  its  highest  polish,  and  to 
prepare  it  for  its  best  efforts. 

There  are  certain  accomplishments  commonly 
called  ornamental,  deemed  by  many  desirable  for 
females,  and  by  some  considered  as  of  much  con- 
sequence. Among  these  are  dancing,  music,  paint- 
ing, drawing,  embroidery,  &;c.  With  regard  to 
dancing,  your  beloved  grandmother  and  myself 
never  thought  proper  to  permit  any  of  our  own 
children  to  be  instructed  in  this  art;  not  because 
we  thought  the  act  of  dancing  itself  criminal,  but 
because  we  considered  it  as  inseparably  and  almost 


50  LETTERS     OF 

necessarily  connected  with  the  whole  system  of 
balls,  dancing  assemblies,  midnight  parties,  &c., 
all  of  which  we  deemed  criminal,  and  in  a  great 
variety  of  ways,  hostile  to  the  principles  and 
the  claims  of  true  religion.  We  do,  indeed,  find 
dancing  spoken  of  in  the  Old  Testament  Scriptures, 
as  having  been  employed,  even  on  occasions  of  reli- 
gious joy;  but  never  on  such  occasions  do  we  read 
of  the  midnight  dance,  nor  of  promiscuous  dancing, 
that  is,  of  the  sexes  together.  And  with  respect  to 
the  New  Testament,  we  read  there  of  only  one 
actual  dance,  and  that  was  performed  by  a  profli- 
gate woman,  and  connected  with  crime  of  the  most 
attrocious  and  revolting  character. 

As  to  music,  I  am  persuaded  it  is  the  duty  of 
every  one  who  is  able  to  do  it,  to  acquire  the 
power  of  uniting  in  the  social  praise  of  God  with 
excellence  and  efficiency.  The  cultivation  of 
vocal  music,  and  the  attainment  of  such  a  degree 
of  skill  in  it  as  is  essential  to  imparting  an  interest 
in  the  exercise,  are  conducive  to  health  and  favour- 
able to  moral  and  spiritual  improvement.  So  far,  I 
am  confident  you  ought  all  to  go.  And  if  my 
granddaughters  should  have  a  special  taste  and 
love  for  instrumental  music,  I  am  by  no  means 
prepared  to  advise  that  they  deny  themselves  the 
pleasure.  It  is  an  elegant  accomphshment,  and 
when  wisely  employed,  may  be  connected  with 
innocent  pleasure,  and  sometimes  with  benefit. 
But  I  should  deeply  regret  to  find  them  aiming  at 


A     GRANDFATHER.  51 

that  exquisite  skill  in  instrumental  music,  which 
cannot  be  attained  without  great  expense,  much 
loss  of  time,  and  that  intense  and  long  continued 
attention  which  cannot  fail  to  engross  the  mind  and 
stand  in  the  way  of  more  worthy  objects  of  pursuit, 
if  it  do  not  wholly  exclude  them.  This  is  so 
unworthy  of  a  rational  accountable  creature,  that 
I  would  infinitely  rather  my  dear  grandchildren 
should  know  nothing  of  music,  than  that  they 
should  carry  their  zeal  for  it,  and  their  devotion  to 
it,  to  such  an  injurious  length.  And  as  to  my 
dear  grandson,  while  1  hope  always  to  hear  him 
unite  in  singing  the  praises  of  God  in  the  sanctu- 
ary with  taste  and  skill,  it  would  give  me  unspeak- 
able pain  to  hear  that  he  was  regarded  as  a  highly 
acceptable  and  admired  singer  at  convivial  meetings, 
and  that  his  company  was  courted  on  that  account. 
I  concur  in  opinion  with  the  old  Grecian  sage,  who, 
when  a  young  gendeman  of  his  acquaintance,  of 
respectable  station  and  employment  in  society,  had 
performed  on  an  instrument  of  music  with  consum- 
mate skill  and  eflect,  said  to  him,  "  Are  you  not 
ashamed,  my  young  friend,  to  play  so  well?" 

In  conducting  the  intellectual  culture  of  the 
young,  there  is  one  question  which  I  presume  you 
will  not  fail  to  ask,  and  which  I  wish  to  anticipate 
and  answer  in  this  little  system  of  affectionate 
advices.  The  question  is,  whether  Novels  ought 
to  have  any  place  in  the  course  of  reading  pre- 
scribed for  young  people?  This  is  a  question  of 


52  LETTERS     OF 

exceeding  great  importance.  When  I  was  a  youth 
it  was  far  less  interesting  and  momentous,  as  a 
practical  matter,  than  it  has  now  become.  Three 
quarters  of  a  century,  and  more  especially  a  cen- 
tury ago,  the  number  of  this  class  of  writings  was 
so  small,  and  their  popular  circulation  so  inconsi- 
derable, that  their  influence  was  scarcely  worthy  of 
notice,  compared  with  that  which  they  have  more 
recently  exerted,  and  which  they  are  daily  going 
on  to  extend.  Bear  with  me  then,  dear  children, 
while  I  dwell  a  little  on  this  subject,  and  call  your 
attention  to  some  thoughts  which  I  pray  God  may 
be  deeply  impressed  upon  your  minds. 

That  fictitious  history  is  not  in  its  own  nature 
and  necessarily  criminal,  will  probably  be  acknow- 
ledged by  all.  It  may  be  so  construed  as  to  awaken 
curiosity,  to  excite  sympathy,  and  to  impress  the 
understanding  and  the  heart  in  a  salutary  manner. 
Of  course,  to  condemn  every  thing  of  the  kind  as 
such,  and  however  constructed  or  employed,  would 
be  to  pronounce  an  unjust  judgment.  Hence  we 
tind  examples  of  this  mode  of  instruction  in  the 
holy  Scriptures ;  and  on  the  same  principle,  some 
of  the  wisest  and  best  human  teachers  in  all  ages, 
have  used  the  vehicle  of  lively  and  interesting 
fiction,  known  to  be  such  at  the  time,  for  insinua- 
ting into  the  mind  moral  and  religious  lessons, 
which  in  a  different  form,  might  not  so  readily 
have  gained  admittance. 

But  the  great  error  of  modern  times  is  two-fold ; 


A     GRANDFATHER.  53 

First,  in  multiplying  publications  of  this  kind, 
until  they  bear  an  inordinate  and  injurious  propor- 
tion in  the  current  literature  of  the  day;  and, 
Secondly,  in  constructing  them  upon  a  plan  adapted 
to  degrade  virtue  and  piety,  to  recommend  vice, 
and  of  course  to  prove  seductive  and  immoral  in 
their  whole  influence. 

Even  when  such  works  are  perfectly  unexcep-  ,#» 
tionable  in  their  character ;  when  they  are  wholly 
free  from  any  thing  improper,  either  in  language  or 
sentiment,  they  may  be  productive  of  incalculable 
mischief,  if,  as  now,  they  are  issued  in  excessive 
numbers  and  quantity.  Leaving  the  character  of 
modern  novels  entirely  out  of  the  question,  the 
enormous  number  which  for  the  last  half  century 
has  been  every  day  increasing,  has  become  a 
grievous  intellectual  and  moral  nuisance.  As 
long  as  they  were  feio  in  number,  and  were 
regarded  not  as  the  substance,  but  only  as  the 
seasoning  of  the  literary  feast,  they  occupied  but  a 
small  share  of  public  attention.  The  chief  time 
and  attention  of  the  reading  portion  of  the  commu- 
nity were  mainly  devoted  to  works  of  substantial 
value,  fitted  to  strengthen,  enlarge,  and  enrich  the 
mind.  But,  within  the  last  twenty  or  thirty  years, 
the  number  of  novels  has  increased  so  rapidly; 
they  have  become  so  prominent  and  alluring  a 
part  of  the  current  literature  of  the  day ;  and  by 
their  stimulating  and  inexhaustible  variety,  have  so 
drawn  away  the  minds  of  the  aged  as  well  as  the 
6 


54  LETTERS     OF 

young  from  solid  reading,  that  they  have  formed 
the  principal  reading  of  a  large  portion  of  the  com- 
munity, and,  of  course,  have  become  a  snare  and 
an  injury  to  an  extent  not  easily  calculated.  As 
long  as  exhilarating  gases,  or  other  stimulating  sub- 
stances, are  administered  sparingly,  and  as  medi- 
cines, they  may  be  altogether  harmless,  and  even 
essentially  useful.  But,  when  those  who  have 
taken  them  for  some  time  in  this  manner,  become 
so  enamoured  with  them  as  to  be  no  longer  satis- 
fied with  their  moderate  and  salutary  use,  but 
make  them  their  daily  and  principal  aliment,  they 
become  inevitably  mischievous.  They  destroy  the 
tone  of  the  stomach,  and,  in  the  end,  radically 
undermine  the  health. 

So  it  is  with  the  insidious  excitement  of  novels. 
Were  the  reader  of  them  to  take  none  into  his 
hands  but  those  which  might  be  safely  pronounced 
perfectly  pure  and  innocent;  and  were  he  certain 
that  he  would  never  be  tempted  to  go  beyond  the 
most  moderate  bounds  in  seeking  and  perusing 
even  such,  there  would,  perhaps,  be  little  danger 
to  be  apprehended.  But  no  one  can  be  thus  cer- 
tain of  either.  The  general  stimulus  of  fictitious 
narrative  is  morbid  and  disorderly.  It  excites  the 
mind,  but  cannot  fill  or  enrich  it.  The  probability 
is,  that  he  who  allows  himself  to  enter  on  this 
course,  will  be  led  on,  like  the  miserable  tippler, 
from  one  stage  of  indulgence  to  another,  until  his 
appetite  is  perverted ;  his  power  of  self-denial  and 


A     GRANDFATHER.  55 

restraint  lost;  and  his  ruin  finally  sealed;  or,  at 
least,  his  mind  so  completely  indisposed  and  unfit- 
ted for  the  sober  realities  of  practical  wisdom,  for 
the  pursuits  of  solid  science  and  Hterature,  as  to  be 
consigned  to  the  class  of  superficial  drivellers  as 
long  as  he  lives. 

The  truth  is,  novels — even  the  purest  and  best 
of  them — are  adapted,  not  to  instruct,  but  only  to 
amuse;  not  to  nourish  and  strengthen,  but  only  to 
exhilarate.  They  even  enervate  the  mind ;  they 
generate  a  sickliness  of  fancy ;  and  they  render  the 
ordinary  afli'airs  and  duties  of  life  altogether  unin- 
teresting and  insipid.  After  wading  through  hun- 
dreds of  the  most  unexceptionable  volumes  belong- 
ing to  this  class — what  has  been  gained?  What 
has  been  laid  up  for  future  use  ?  Nothing.  Not  a 
trace  of  any  thing  useful  has  been  left  behind.  The 
days  and  nights  devoted  to  their  perusal  have  been 
absolutely  lost.  AVhat  infatuation  is  it  for  a  rational 
creature  who  is  sent  into  the  world  for  serious  and 
important  purposes,  and  who  is  hastening  to  the 
judgment  seat,  thus  to  waste  precious  time;  and, 
what  is  worse,  thus  to  pervert  his  mind,  and  dis- 
qualify himself  for  sober  employments  !  The  cele- 
brated Dr.  Goldsmith,  in  writing  to  his  brother, 
respecting  the  education  of  his  son,  expresses  him- 
self in  the  following  strong  terms,  which  are  the 
more  remarkable,  as  he  himself  had  written  a 
novel: — "Above  all  things,  never  let  your  son 
touch  a  romance  or  novel.     These  paint  beauty  in 


56  L  E  T  T  E  R  S     O  F 

colours  more  charming  than  nature,  and  describe 
happiness  that  man  never  tastes.  How  delusive, 
how  destructive  are  those  pictures  of  consummate 
bliss !  They  teach  the  youthful  mind  to  sigh 
after  beauty  and  happiness  which  never  existed; 
to  despise  the  little  good  which  fortune  has  mixed 
in  our  cup,  by  expecting  more  than  she  ever  gave ; 
and,  in  general,  take  the  word  of  a  man  who  has 
seen  the  world,  and  has  studied  human  nature 
more  by  experience  than  precepts — take  my  word 
for  it,  I  say,  that  such  books  teach  us  very  little  of 
the  world."*  He  might  have  gone  farther,  and 
said — They  teach  us  little  of  any  thing;  and  so 
pervert  the  taste,  as  to  take  away  all  relish  for 
applying  the  mind  to  any  thing  sober  or  useful. 
Often  have  I  known  young  men  and  women  so 
bewitched  by  novels,  that  they  could  read  nothing 
else.  They  sought  for  new  works  of  this  class  in 
every  direction;  devoured  them  with  insatiable 
avidity ;  and  became  less  and  less  disposed  for 
pursuing  any  study  either  prescribed  by  their  pre- 
ceptors, or  adapted  to  promote  their  ultimate  enjoy- 
ment; until  their  prospects  for  both  worlds  were 
irrecoverably  overcast  with  clouds  and  darkness. 

Imagine  not,  dear  children,  that  you  will  exer- 
cise more  resolution  than  others,  and  thus  avoid 
the  snare  of  which  I  have  spoken.     You  cannot 

*  Life  of  Goldsmith,  prefixed  to  his  Miscellaneous 
Works. 


A     GRANDFATHER.  57 

answer  for  yourselves  in  this  matter,  any  more 
than  the  man  who  is  constantly  exposed  to  the 
temptation  of  stimulating  drinks  can  be  sure  of 
escaping  the  danger.  Rely  upon  it,  the  more  con- 
fident you  are  of  your  own  wisdom  and  firmness 
in  avoiding  the  evil  in  question,  the  greater  your 
peril.  In  this,  as  in  many  other  things,  the  only 
complete  safety  is  to  be  found  in  wholly  avoiding 
the  dangerous  territory. 

But  there  is  another  source  of  evil  in  this  depart- 
ment of  literature,  still  more  serious  and  formi- 
dable. A  very  large  proportion  of  modern  novels, 
are  far  from  being  innocent.  They  are  positively 
seductive  and  corrupting  in  their  tendency.  They 
make  virtue  to  appear  contemptible,  and  vice 
attractive,  honourable,  and  triumphant.  Folly  and 
crime  have  palliative  and  even  commendatory  names 
bestowed  upon  them.  The  omnipotence  of  love 
over  all  obligations  and  all  duties,  is  continually 
maintained ;  and  the  extravagance  of  sinful  passion 
represented  as  the  eff'ect  of  amiable  sensibility. 
Surely  these  representations  can  have  no  other 
tendency  than  to  pervert  the  moral  sentiments,  and 
to  corrupt  the  hearts  of  those  who  habitually  dwell 
upon  them.  And  even  though  they  be,  at  first, 
contemplated  with  abhorrence,  no  one  can  tell  how 
soon  the  mind  may  be  gradually  and  insidiously 
reconciled  to  them,  by  familiarity  with  the  infec- 
tious influence. 

For  example;   the  novels  of  Sh'  fValter  Scott 
6* 


58  LETTERS     OF 

have  been  read  with  eager  delight  by  milhons  of 
the  young  and  the  old ;  and  many  pronounce  them 
at  least  innocent.  But  those  who  read  them  with 
intelligence,  and  with  a  proper  estimate  of  the 
times  and  the  characters  which  he  undertakes  to 
portray,  will  perceive  that  the  writer  arrays  him- 
self against  the  patriotism  and  the  piety  of  some 
of  the  best  men  that  ever  adorned  the  history  of 
his  country;  that  he  exhibits  orthodoxy  and  zeal 
under  the  guise  of  enthusiasm  and  fanaticism ;  that 
he  strives  to  cover  with  dishonour,  men  "of  whom 
the  world  was  not  worthy;"  and  to  elevate  and 
canonize  their  persecutors.  In  short,  that  his 
general  influence  is  wholly  unfriendly  to  religion. 
These  characteristics  pervade  the  most  popular 
of  his  novels.  Of  course  few  of  his  readers, 
especially  of  his  youthful  readers,  are  aware  of  his 
misrepresentation,  and,  therefore,  are  not  armed 
against  the  mischievous  influence. 

But  there  is  a  poison  lurking  in  this  field,  still 
more  virulent  and  fatal.  A  large  portion  of  novels 
may  be  charged  with  being  seductive  and  immoral, 
upon  a  more  refined  and  deep  laid  plan.  They 
are  systematic,  and,  in  some  instances,  ingenious 
and  plausible  apologies  for  the  most  atrocious 
crimes.  In  many  modern  productions  of  this  kind, 
the  intelligent  reader  will  recognise  the  following 
process  of  representation:  Corrupt  opinions  are 
put  into  the  mouth  of  some  favourite  hero,  the 
splendour  of  whose  character,  in  other  respects,  is 


A     GRANDFATHER.  59 

made  to  embellish  the  principles  which  he  holds, 
and  the  force  of  whose  eloquence  is  employed  to 
recommend  the  most  unreasonable  and  mischievous 
dogmas.  When  this  hero  commits  a  crime,  and 
when,  by  this  crime,  according  to  the  fixed  laws 
of  the  divine  government,  he  is  involved  in  serious 
difficulty,  if  not  lasting  and  fatal  misery,  the 
fashionable  novelist  endeavours  to  throw  the  blame 
on  the  religious  and  moral  institutions  of  society, 
as  narrow,  illiberal,  and  unjust.  When  a  splendid , 
but  corrupt  woman,  has  forsaken  the  paths  of 
virtue,  and  when  she  suffers  in  her  reputation  and 
her  comfort,  by  such  conduct,  all  this  is  ascribed 
to  "the  wretched  state  of  civihzation" — to  "the 
deplorable  condition  of  society."  Every  oppor- 
tunity is  taken  to  attack  some  essential  principle  of 
morality,  under  the  tide  of  a  "prejudice;"  to 
ridicule  the  duties  of  conjugal  and  domestic  life,  as 
flowing  from  "contracted"  and  "slavish"  views; 
to  stigmatize  the  sober  pursuits  of  honest  industry, 
as  "dull"  and  "spiritless;"  and,  in  a  word,  to 
frame  an  apology  for  robbery,  murder,  suicide,  and 
the  indulgence  of  every  propensity,  for  which  a 
corrupt  heart  can  plead  an  inclination. 

Now,  my  dear  children,  when  novels  of  this 
kind  are  placed  on  the  shelves  of  every  circulating 
library,  and  strewed  over  every  part  of  our  land, 
what  security  have  youthful  novel-readers  that 
many  of  this  class  Avill  not  fall  into  their  hands, 
and   that  they   may  not   imbibe  the  fatal  poison 


50  LETTERS     OF 

before  they  are  aware?  Is  it  any  wonder  that 
wdse  parents  and  guardians  are  painfully  appre- 
hensive of  such  danger  ?  Many  amiable  and  well- 
intentioned  young  people,  who  fancied  they  were 
gaining  amusement  only,  have  been  unwarily  be- 
trayed into  opinions,  and  prepared  for  practices 
which  they  would  once  have  regarded  with  abhor- 
rence, and  which  ultimately  led  them  into  error, 
crime,  and  ruin.  Since,  then,  there  are  so  many 
•  lovels  of  this  insidious  and  baneful  character ;  and 
since  it  is  by  no  means  easy  for  the  young  and 
inexperienced  to  distinguish  between  the  innocent 
and  the  vile,  you  will  not  wonder  that  I  advise, 
nay,  entreat  you  to  avoid  the  reading  of  novels 
altogether;  never  to  allow  yourselves  to  take  a 
volume  of  this  kind  into  your  hands  at  all.  The 
most  innocent  of  them,  as  you  have  seen,  are 
worthless,  and  the  perusal  even  of  them,  a  waste 
or  time ;  and  if  you  allow  yourselves  to  touch  any 
of  them,  you  will  be  in  danger  of  being  led  astray 
to  an  extent  which  you  can  hardly  be  made  to 
anticipate.  I  beseech  you,  dear  children,  trust 
one  who  sincerely  loves  you;  who  understands 
the  subject  of  which  he  is  speaking ;  and  who 
would  not  deprive  you  of  a  single  safe  or  solid 
pleasure — trust  him   when   he    earnestly  exhorts 

you,  NEVER  TO   READ  A  NOVEL. 

You  will,  perhaps,  ask,  what  is  my  opinion  of 
what  are  called  "  religious  novels,"  that  is,  of  fic- 
titious narrative,  designed  to  illustrate  and  recom- 


A     GRANDFATHER.  Q^ 

mend  religion?  I  am  compelled  to  say,  that  my 
deliberate  judgment  is  unfavourable  to  these  also. 
They  are  neither  edifying  nor  safe  as  instructors  in 
the  great  department  of  religion.  I  do  not  deny 
that  some  of  this  class  may  be  adapted  to  do  good, 
and  may  have  been  actually  useful.  But  this  is 
not  the  question.  The  question  is,  whether,  as  a 
system,  it  is  better  to  instruct  in  religion  through 
the  medium  of  fictitious  narrative,  and  by  means  of 
thrilling  incidents,  or  by  plain,  sober,  didactic,  and 
exhortatory  address.  In  general,  I  cannot  help 
deciding  in  favour  of  the  latter.  The  reason  why 
the  large  majority  of  mankind  prefer  fictitious  nar- 
rative is,  that  they  love  cxcite7nent;  and  most 
youthful  readers  will  be  more  likely  to  take  inte- 
rest in  the  "  story,"  than  in  the  moral  lessons 
which  it  conveys.  Condiments  and  stimulants  are 
useful  in  our  food;  but  to  make  our  daily  food 
consist  wholly  or  mainly  of  condiments  and  stimu- 
lants, would  not,  surely,  be  wise  or  salutary. 

But  this  is  not  the  worst.  Among  the  novels 
called  religious,  there  are  various  classes.  Almost 
all  the  different  religious  denominations  have  issued 
novels  appropriate  to  their  respective  sectarian  cha- 
racters. We  not  only  have  those  which  have  been 
put  forth  by  the  friends  of  truth  and  piety ;  but, 
also,  many  by  the  advocates  of  error.  Socinianism 
is  now  strenuously  inculcated  through  the  medium 
of  fictitious  narrative.  Cold  Pelaofianism  on  the  one 
hand,  and  Antinomianism  on  the  other,  have  been 


52  LETTERS     OF 

presented  in  the  same  manner.  Amidst  these  aher- 
nate  pleadings  of  orthodoxy  and  heresy,  how  shall 
the  youthful  learner  discriminate?  Were  he  to 
take  up  a  didactic  treatise  in  favour  of  Socinian  or 
Pelagian  opinions,  he  would  see  the  error  in  a 
moment,  and  be  on  his  guard  against  it.  But 
when  he  is  borne  away  by  the  excitement  of  a 
stirring  narrative,  and  a  spirited,  eloquent  dialogue, 
he  may  imbibe  the  poison  of  error,  before  he  is 
^^,ware. 

You  must  not,  dear  children,  consider  me  as 
fanciful,  if  I  express  an  opinion,  that  the  present 
prevailing  state  of  mind  of  the  religious  public  has 
some  connexion  with  that  class  of  novels  of  which 
I  am  now  speaking.  The  most  striking  character- 
istic of  the  present  time  is  a  love  of  excitement. 
The  old  and  sober  mode  of  proceeding  in  any 
thing  has  become  unpopular  and  intolerable.  Our 
children  can  scarcely  be  prevailed  upon  to  read 
any  thing  unless  it  comes  in  the  shape  of  a  striking 
story.  If  any  one  wishes  a  pious  tract  to  be  read, 
he  must  construct  it  in  the  form  of  a  thrilling  ficti- 
tious narrative.  Every  dish  must  be  highly  season- 
ed; every  draught  must  be  a  dram.  Is  it  any 
wonder  that,  in  such  a  condition  of  the  public 
taste,  all  old  methods  of  doing  good  should  be  des- 
pised, and  the  Church  as  well  as  the  world  filled 
with  new  opinions,  new  estimates  of  things,  and 


new  measures 


?" 


Be  assured,  when  your  mind  is  brought,  by  any 


A     GRANDFATHER.  Q^ 

means,  whether  by  an  insatiable  love  of  fictitious 
narrative,  or  by  any  other  form  of  exciting  compo- 
sition, to  relish  nothing  conveyed  in  the  old  form  of 
solid,  didactic,  direct  instruction,  it  is  high  time 
to  examine  whether  you  are  not  acquiring  habits 
unfriendly  to  sober  thought,  to  the  best  niental 
culture,  and  to  the  acquirement  of  the  most  va- 
luable knowledge.  How  often  have  I  met  with 
young  people,  of  both  sexes,  who  could  talk  flu- 
ently, and  with  apparent  intelligence,  of  the  vol- 
umes of  Miss  Burney,  Mrs.  RadclifFe,  Madame 
De  Stael,  Miss  Edgeworth,  and  Scott,  and  Cooper, 
and  Bulwer,  and  even  of  the  depraved  and  infa- 
mous Byron ; — but,  who  were  struck  dumb  if  you 
spoke  to  them  of  Shakspeare ;  of  Bacon ;  of  Mil- 
ton; of  Addison;  of  Thompson;  of  Young;  of 
Dryden;  of  Pope,  and  Johnson,  and  Robertson, 
and  Junius,  and  Cowper,  and  other  English  clas- 
sics, of  whom,  if  they  had  ever  heard,  they  seemed 
to  know  nothing !  Is  this  the  way  to  cultivate  the 
mind  ?  Does  this  speak  for  or  against  the  devourer 
of  novels  ? 

The  sum  of  my  counsel,  then,  under  this  head, 
is,  that  if  you  wish  really  to  cultivate  your  minds, 
and  to  prepare  them  for  healthful  and  useful  ac- 
tion, let  your  studies  be  sohd,  diligent,  and  perse- 
vering. Let  your  reading  be  such  as  will  fill  your 
minds  with  the  knowledge  of  facts,  principles,  and 
sentiments  of  the  enriching  and  elevating  kind. 
Let  your  first  and  most  intimate  acquaintance  be 


64  LETTERS     OF 

with  those  authors  whose  works  will  tend  to  fit 
you  for  answering  the  great  purpose  for  which  you 
were  sent  into  the  world.  Carefully  avoid  every 
species  of  reading  which  tends  to  turn  away  your 
minds  from  sober,  practical  views  of  life  and  duty. 
And  remember  that,  for  every  book  you  read,  and 
for  every  mental  influence  which  you  invite,  you 
have  to  render  a  solemn  account. 

There  is  one  more  counsel,  dear  children,  with 
which  I  will  close  this  letter.  It  is,  that  whatever 
subject  you  study — whatever  book  you  read,  you 
do  ii  faithfully  and  thoroughly.  Leave  nothing 
until  you  understand  it  well ; — until  you  have,  as 
far  as  possible,  gone  to  the  bottom  of  it.  You 
may  rely  upon  it  that  no  solid  knowledge  is  to  be 
gained  without  patient,  unwearied  labour.  Be  not 
in  haste,  then,  to  pass  on  to  another  subject  or 
lesson,  until  you  have  completely  mastered  that  in 
which  you  may  be  engaged.  Be  not  contented 
with  merely  enabling  yourselves  to  recite  a  lesson 
with  plausible  fluency.  Be  sure  that  you  tho- 
roughly comprehend,  not  only  its  obvious  mean- 
ing, but  also  its  elementary  principles.  Despise 
the  indolence  of  those,  who,  in  learning  languages, 
are  constantly  using  the  miserable  crutches  of 
translations,  instead  of  walking  with  the  use  of 
their  own  limbs ;  and  who,  whenever  a  difficulty 
occurs  in  mathematics,  or  any  other  subject,  in- 
stead of  delving  it  out  themselves,  ignobly  ask  help 
from   some   wiser   and   better   scholar.     This   is 


A     GRANDFATHER.  g5 

cheating  yourselves.  That  which  is  gained  by 
your  own  efforts,  and  with  considerable  labour, 
will  be  better  understood,  and  more  firmly  lodged 
in  the  mind,  than  that  which  is  imparted  gratui- 
tously by  others,  without  any  vigorous  mental 
exercise  on  your  part. 

The  fact  is,  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  may  be 
compared  to  the  task  of  one  who  is  called  to  cross 
a  high  and  craggy  mountain.  If  he  is  willing  to 
forego  his  own  best  interests,  both  as  to  bodily 
and  mental  health,  he  may  employ  some  sturdy, 
athletic  assistant  to  take  him  up  in  his  arms,  and 
bear  him  over  the  steep  ascent,  and  deposit  him  in 
safety  on  the  other  side,  without  the  use  of  a  mus- 
cle of  his  own.  But  what  would  he  be  the  better 
for  it,  at  the  end  of  his  journey  ?  His  limbs  would 
not  be  braced.  His  chest  would  not  be  expanded. 
He  would  miss  a  thousand  interesting  objects  of 
attention  which  the  use  of  his  own  feet  would  have 
brought  to  his  view.  After  a  thousand  such  boast- 
ed expeditions,  he  might  live  and  die  the  same 
feeble,  nervous  dyspeptic,  that  he  was  when  he  set 
out.  Whereas,  he  who  resolves  to  climb  the  same 
mountain  by  his  own  efforts ;  who  addresses  him- 
self to  the  task  with  patient  persevering  labour; 
who  takes  step  after  step,  slowly,  but  wisely  and 
tirmly ;  may  not  gain  the  ascent  quite  as  speedily 
as  his  weaker  contemporary ;  but  he  will  gain  it 
much  more  to  his  own  profit  and  comfort,  and,  in 
the  end,  find  every  power  invigorated  by  the 
7 


QQ  LETTERS     OF 

enterprise.  0,  if  children  and  young  people  could 
feel  how  foolish  it  is  to  procure  themselves  to  be 
borne  up  the  mountain  of  knowledge  by  others, 
instead  of  climbing  it  themselves,  they  would  des- 
pise all  the  "  labour-saving  machinery"  to  which 
many  of  them  are  so  fond  of  resorting ;  and  would 
remember  that  what  is  gained  by  their  own  intel- 
lectual efforts,  is  more  solid,  wears  better,  digests 
better,  and  is  productive  of  richer  fruit,  both  to 
themselves  and  others. 

It  is  a  law  impressed  by  our  Maker  on  the  intel- 
lectual, as  well  as  the  physical  man,  that  "if  any 
will  not  work,  neither  shall  he  eat."  It  is  a  real 
blessing,  if  we  did  but  know  it,  to  have  labour  con- 
nected with  all  our  attainments.  Thus  do  we  best 
answer  the  great  end  of  our  being;  thus  do  we 
invigorate  every  power,  and  become  prepared  most 
effectually  to  "  serve  our  generation  by  the  will  of 
God. 


A     GRANDFATHER.  57 


LETTER    VII 


CULTIVATION  OF  THE  HEART,  AND  THE 
MORAL  HABITS. 

Dear  Children  : — By  the  heart,  I  mean  the  mo- 
ral feehngs,  dispositions,  and  affections.  And  by 
cultivating  the  heart,  I  mean  directing  much  atten- 
tion to  restraining,  regulating,  and  purifying  all  its 
exercises.  This  may  be  said  to  lie  at  the  founda- 
tion of  all  duty  and  all  happiness.  Were  your 
intellectual  powers  cultivated  with  all  possible  care 
and  success,  and  your  moral  faculties  neglected, 
you  might  be  polished  and  elegant  demons ;  but 
would  be  miserable  yourselves,  and  a  curse  to 
society.  Whether,  therefore,  you  regard  your  own 
present  enjoyment,  and  everlasting  welfare,  or  the 
happiness  of  those  around  you,  you  cannot  too 
early  remember  the  great  purpose  for  which  you 
were  sent  into  the  world,  and  the  relations  which 
you  sustain  as  rational,  social,  and  immortal  crea- 
tures. You  cannot  too  early  or  too  diligently  learn 
to  restrain  your  passions ;  to  deny  yourselves ;  and 
to  cultivate  those  benevolent,  meek,  humble,  and 
amiable  habits,  which  are  indispensable  to  tran- 
quillity and  peace  of  mind,  and  which  alone  can 
prepare  you  to  adorn  and  bless  the  social  circles 


58  LETTERS     OF 

with  which  you  may  be  connected.  I  draw  your 
attention  the  more  earnestly  to  this  great  subject 
because  I  see  so  many  young  people  who  appear 
never  to  think  of  the  importance,  or  even  utility  of 
this  part  of  their  education. 

If  you  have  not  learned,  dear  children,  that  you 
are  by  nature  prone  to  be  proud,  vain,  selfish, 
envious,  irascible,  sensual,  malignant,  and,  in  a 
word,  to  indulge  the  various  appetites  and  passions 
which  tend  to  destroy  your  own  peace,  and  to 
invade  the  comfort  of  those  around  you ;  if  you 
have  not  discovered  that  this  is  the  tendency  of 
your  nature,  and  that  resisting  it  will  call  for  much 
self-denial,  and  continual,  and  sometimes  for  agon- 
izing effort,  you  have  attended  less  to  your  own 
feelings,  and  habits,  and  less  to  the  character  of 
your  friends  and  associates  than  I  am  willing  to 
suppose. 

Perhaps  you  will  ask — Does  not  religion  cover 
all  this  ground  ?  Where  the  power  of  Christian 
principle  reigns  in  the  heart,  will  not  every  thing 
intended  to  be  included  in  this  letter  follow  as  a 
matter  of  course  ?  If  the  plan  of  salvation,  treated 
in  a  former  letter,  be  received  and  obeyed,  will  not 
all  the  objects  contemplated  in  the  present  letter, 
be  included  and  secured?  Whence,  then,  the 
necessity,  or  even  the  propriety,  of  making  it  mat- 
ter of  separate  consideration  ?  I  answer,  the  reli- 
gion of  Christ,  in  its  spirit  and  power,  does  indeed 
embrace   all   moral   excellence.     It  does,  in  fact, 


A     GRANDFATHER.  ^Q 

where  it  bears  appropriate  and  entire  sway,  include 
every  moral  feeling,  affection,  and  habit,  which 
can  adorn  and  elevate  human  nature.  And  yet  it 
is  to  be  lamented  that  many  who  cherish  the 
Christian  hope,  are  not  as  much  aware  of  this  fact 
as  they  ought  to  be;  and  are  not  so  careful  to 
exhibit  all  the  loveliness,  as  well  as  the  purity 
of  example  which  become  them,  as  is  desirable. 
And,  besides,  I  have  always  found  that  there  is  a 
great  advantage  in  pursuing  rather  more  into  detail 
the  various  branches  of  the  Christian  temper,  than 
is  commonly  done  even  in  the  best  treatises  on 
religious  character  and  duty.  The  French  have  a 
phrase  which  expresses  more  exactly  than  any 
Enghsh  one  which  I  can  recollect,  my  meaning  in 
the  tide  of  this  letter.  The  phrase  I  refer  to,  is 
Les  petites  morales;  by  which  they  appear  to 
understand  those  moral  delicacies  of  feeling,  tem- 
per, and  intercourse,  which,  though  not  always 
found  actually  shining  in  every  professing,  or  even 
every  real  Christian,  do  really  belong  to  the  Chris- 
tian code  of  ethics,  and  are  indispensable  to  a  com- 
plete and  exemplary  character. 

The  duties  which  grow  out  of  our  relations  to 
God,  are  generally  acknowledged  by  all  professors 
of  religion.  However  defective  their  obedience, 
their  obligations  are  seldom  disputed.  But  if  it  be 
the  law  of  God,  not  only  that  we  should  "  love 
Him  with  all  our  heart  and  soul  and  strength  and 
mind,"  but  also  that  we  should  "love  our  neigh- 
7* 


70  LETTERS     OF 

boiirs  as  ourselves,"  then  the  duties  growing  out  of 
this  great  law  are  more  multiplied,  tender,  delicate 
and  important  than  most  of  those  who  are  called 
religious  people  recognise  in  practice,  or  even  in 
theory. 

It  is  true,  the  root  of  all  sound  morality  is  reli- 
gion. And  it  is  equally  true,  that  the  deeper  sense 
any  one  has  of  the  constraining  love  of  Christ,  and 
of  the  holiness,  majesty,  omniscience,  and  omni- 
presence of  God,  the  more  faithful  he  will  be  in 
the  discharge  of  all  moral  duties,  both  in  private 
and  in  public.  Labour  then,  day  by  day,  to  gain 
a  deeper  impression  of  the  claims  of  your  Creator 
and  Redeemer  upon  you.  Meditate  much  on  the 
Divine  glory.  Cultivate  a  devout  spirit.  Study 
to  walk  with  God  in  the  exercise  of  faith,  and 
love,  and  prayer.  And  endeavour  to  keep  con- 
stantly before  your  minds  his  all  seeing  eye,  his 
infinite  holiness,  his  judgment  seat,  and  those 
righteous  retributions  which  he  has  in  store  for  all 
his  creatures,  whether  they  be  good,  or  whether 
they  be  evil?  This  is  cultivating  the  heart  in  the 
most  essential  and  radical  sense.  This  is  going  to 
"  the  root  of  the  matter."  That  morality,  and 
that  alone,  which  is  grafted  upon  this  sanctified 
stock,  will  be  regarded  with  approbation  by  the 
Searcher  of  hearts,  and  stand  the  test  of  the  great 
day. 

But  while  you  labour  with  your  hearts,  that 
they  may  be  habitually  laid  open,  with  all  the  soft- 


A     GRANDFATHER.  'J\ 

ness  and  tenderness  of  spiritual  sensibility,  to  the 
claims  of  your  Creator  and  Redeemer;  study  with 
no  less  diligence  to  cherish  a  deep  sense  of  all  the 
duties  which  you  owe  to  your  beloved  relatives,  to 
your  friends,  to  your  neighbours,  and  to  all  with 
whom  you  have  intercourse.  To  perceive  the 
theory  of  diese  duties,  is  the  province  of  the  under- 
standing; to  enter  into  them,  as  a  practical  matter, 
and  under  a  solemn  sense  of  obligation,  is  an  affair 
of  the  heart;  and  the  more  deeply  your  hearts  are 
schooled  both  in  the  principles  and  practice  of 
these  duties,  the  more  they  may  be  said  to  partake 
of  that  culture  which  I  am  now  recommending. 

When  I  imagine  to  myself  what  an  influence 
your  precious  Mother  might  have  had  in  culti- 
vating your  moral  feelings  and  habits,  if  it  had 
pleased  God  to  spare  her  to  you ;  when  I  think  of 
the  happy  power  which  her  delicate,  forming 
hand,  might,  by  the  divine  blessing,  have  exerted 
over  the  heart  of  each  of  you ; — the  heart — as  Mrs. 
Hannah  More  expresses  it — that  "  seat  of  evil 
propensities — that  htde  troublesome  empire  of  the 
passions;" — I  could  sit  down  and  weep  afresh 
that  you  are  never  to  enjoy  that  culture.  But, 
happily,  there  is  a  source  of  infinitely  better  cul- 
ture. Try  to  lay  to  heart  your  weakness  and  your 
wants,  and  implore  without  ceasing  the  enlighten- 
ing, subduing,  and  sanctifying  power  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  and  you  will  find  "  his  grace  sufficient  for 
you." 


72  LETTERS     OF 

There  are  special  duties  which  you  owe  to  your 
beloved  surviving  Parent,  and  to  all  your  domestic 
relatives,  of  the  most  peculiar  and  tender  kind; 
duties  which  it  is  equally  your  privilege  and  your 
honour  to  discharge.  These  are  veneration,  love, 
gratitude,  and  a  dutiful  respect  to  all  their  feelings, 
as  well  as  their  interests.  Here  children  are  ex- 
tremely apt  to  fail.  Affection  is  generally  found 
to  descend  from  parents  to  their  offspring,  and  in 
general  from  elder  to  younger  relatives,  in  great 
strength;  but  from  children  to  parents,  or  from  the 
young  to  the  old,  it  seldom  rises  with  equal  vigour. 
Let  not  this  be  said  of  you.  Constantly  cherish 
toward  your  beloved  Father,  and  all  your  elder 
relatives,  not  merely  an  outward  respect,  and  duti- 
fulness  of  deportment,  but  a  cordial  and  ardent 
affection;  a  sincere  and  lively  gratitude  for  all 
those  anxious  cares  and  labours  on  their  part  for 
your  benefit,  for  which  you  have  been  indebted 
ever  since  you  were  born,  and  for  which  you  can 
never  make  an  adequate  return.  Try  to  please 
them  by  the  constant  manifestation  of  love,  confi- 
dence, and  grateful  veneration;  and  let  them  see 
that  you  treasure  up,  to  your  profit,  all  their 
instruction,  reproofs,  and  warnings.  When  the 
heart,  as  well  as  the  outward  conduct,  is  con- 
formed to  these  sentiments,  O,  how  endearing  and 
happy  is  the  intercourse  between  parents  and  chil- 
dren !  What  a  charm  is  diffused  over  the  whole 
aspect  of  domestic  society  ! 


A     GRANDFATHER.  'J^ 

Let  me  entreat  you,  also,  early  to  learn  the  duty 
and  the  pleasure  of  living  in  affectionate  harmony 
among  yourselves.  I  can  scarcely  express  to  you 
the  pain  which  I  have  sometimes  felt  when  I 
have  perceived  any  thing  like  a  spirit  of  strife  and 
acrimony  rising  between  you,  and  leading  to  the 
exchange  of  angry  looks  and  passionate  language. 
Surely  three  motherless  children  ought  to  feel 
more  closely  bound  together  than  to  indulge  in 
such  a  temper  and  conduct.  If  you  do  not  love 
one  another,  who  can  you  expect  will  love  you  ? 
Be  careful,  then,  continually  to  cultivate  a  spirit  of 
brotherly  and  sisterly  affection  toward  each  other. 
Let  nothing  interrupt  this.  When  any  contest 
arises,  let  the  only  strife  be,  which  shall  be  the 
first  to  yield,  rather  than  contend.  On  no  account 
allow  yourselves  to  employ  harsh,  much  less  vio- 
lent language  toward  each  other.  And  if  any  con- 
test arises  which  you  cannot  settle  between  your- 
selves without  violence,  let  a  united  appeal  to  your 
Father,  if  he  be  present,  or  in  his  absence,  to  your 
grandparents,  terminate  the  controversy.  Seldom 
does  a  conflict  of  this  kind  arise  without  there 
being  blame  on  both  sides.  And  who  so  proper  to 
make  the  proper  award,  and  to  adjust  every  diffi- 
culty, as  those  who  love  you  all  equally  and 
dearly,  and  have  age  and  experience  on  their  side  ? 
Let  me  enjoin  on  you  to  begin,  as  early  as  pos- 
sible, to  cherish  a  spirit  of  habitual  benevolence — 
a  desire,  Avherever  you  go,  to  promote  the  happi- 


74  LETTERS    OF 

ness  of  all  around  you.  Selfishness  is  the  great 
master-sin  of  human  nature.  "  All  seek  their 
own."  The  young,  especially,  are  apt  to  be 
swallowed  up  in  the  excessive  pursuit  of  their  own 
enjoyment,  and  that  enjoyment  is  rarely  sought  or 
found  in  ministering  to  the  wants,  and  promoting 
the  comfort  of  others.  But  rely  upon  it,  dear 
children,  this  is  a  narrow  and  altogether  deceptive 
view  of  the  best. means  of  happiness.  Not  only  is 
it  the  divine  command  that  we  "  love  our  neigh- 
bour as  ourselves,"  but  it  is  equally  certain  that 
obedience  to  this  great  law  tends  as  directly  to 
make  ourselves  happy,  as  it  does  to  promote  the 
comfort  of  the  objects  of  our  benevolent  attention. 
If  you  wish  to  be  happy  yourselves,  study  continu- 
ally to  make  all  around  you  so  too.  The  luxury 
of  doing  good  is  the  richest  luxury  of  which  we 
are  capable.  It  is  the  very  spirit  of  Christ,  who 
"went  about  doing  good;"  and  the  more  closely 
we  commune  with  him  in  the  exercise  of  the  same 
spirit,  the  more  we  secure  true  and  rational  enjoy- 
ment. Wherever  you  are,  then,  cultivate  a  spirit 
of  sympathy  with  the  afflicted,  and  the  habit  of 
flying  spontaneously  to  the  reUef  of  suffering. 
You  cannot  begin  too  early  to  feed  the  hungry,  to 
clothe  the  naked,  to  minister  to  the  wants  of  the 
sick  and  dying,  to  relieve  distress  of  every  kind, 
and  to  "  please  every  one  for  his  good  to  edifica- 
tion :" — not  by  flattery,  which  is  too  commonly 
the   method  of  pleasing  adopted ;   but  by  letting 


A     GRANDFATHER.  75 

it  be  seen  that  you  seek,  as  much  as  in  you 
lies,  to  make  all  around  you  truly  happy.  Never 
promote  mirth  at  the  expense  of  others.  Never 
allow  yourselves  to  "  set  others  by  the  ears"  as  it 
is  sometimes  expressed,  for  the  sake  of  derision. 
Carefully  avoid  all  those  "  tricks,"  which  so  many 
of  the  young  delight  in,  and  by  which  so  much 
suffering,  and  sometimes  even  ultimately  the  loss 
of  life,  have  been  incurred.  In  a  word,  conscien- 
tiously cherish  the  principle  and  the  habit  of  never 
giving  a  moment's  pain  to  a  human  being,  or  even 
to  a  brute  beast,  unless  it  be  necessary  for  their 
real  good;  and  wherever  you  see  pain,  by  whom- 
soever inflicted,  do  all  in  your  power,  consistent 
with  other  obligations,  to  relieve  it,  and  to  give 
rational  pleasure.  There  is  nothing,  be  assured, 
dear  children,  in  all  the  splendour  of  fashionable 
display,  in  all  the  gratifications  of  sense,  in  all  the 
delirious  joys  of  giddy  dissipation,  once  to  be  com- 
pared with  the  hallowed  pleasure  of  habitually 
doing  good  to  all  within  your  reach.  Yes,  make 
doing  good  your  "  ruling  passion,"  and  you  will 
be  among  the  happiest  of  mortals. 

Let  me  beseech  you  to  watch  over  your  temper 
with  studious  care.  Few  things  are  more  unhappy 
in  a  young  person  of  either  sex,  than  an  irritable, 
irascible  temper.  It  betrays  into  a  thousand  indis- 
cretions. It  poisons  social  intercourse.  It  alien- 
ates friends.  It  destroys  the  comfort  of  the  indi- 
vidual who  indulges  it:  and  it  interferes  with  the 


•^g  LETTERS     OF 

comfort  of  all  with  whom  he  converses.  I  have 
known  this  infirmity  to  cast  a  cloud  over  the 
whole  course  of  many  persons  who  were  other- 
wise fitted  to  adorn  and  bless  society.  Watch  and 
pray  against  it  with  the  utmost  diligence.  "  He 
that  ruleth  his  own  spirit  is  gi-eater  than  he  that 
taketh  a  city."  "  Be  swift  to  hear,  slow  to  speak, 
slow  to  wrath."  Learn  "  by  soft  answers  to  turn 
away  wrath,"  both  in  yourselves  and  others.  Be 
not  ready  to  take  oflfence,  or  to  consider  any  one 
as  "an  offender  for  a  word."  Never  regard  an 
honest  difference  of  opinion  from  yourself  as  a  per- 
sonal affront.  Surely  the  indulgence  of  such  a 
spirit  is  as  unreasonable  as  it  is  unhappy.  Guard 
with  the  utmost  vigilance  against  a  jealous,  suspi- 
cious temper.  Ill  nature,  peevishness,  and  a  dis- 
position to  take  every  thing  by  an  unfavourable 
handle,  and  to  indulge  in  satire  and  sarcasm,  are 
revolting  in  every  human  being,  but  especially  in 
the  female  sex.  I  have  never  known  such  a  tem- 
per to  be  indulged  without  diminishing  both  the 
respectability  and  happiness  of  its  possessor.  Let 
a  mild,  amiable,  conciliatory  spirit  reign  in  all  your 
intercourse.  Be  ever  kind,  tender  hearted,  and 
forgiving,  even  as  you  hope  to  obtain  forgiveness 
from  the  God  of  all  grace.  Let  the  spirit  of 
benevolence,  and  a  desire  to  please,  shine  in  your 
countenances,  and  be  manifest  in  your  deportment 
in  all  companies;  at  home  and  on  journies  ;  in  the 
public    hotel,   and    in   the   parlour   of    a   friend ; 


A     GRANDFATHER.  i^i^ 

towards  servants,  as  well  as  towards  your  equals 
or  superiors.  In  a  word,  in  temper  as  well  as  in 
conduct,  "  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  others  should 
do  unto  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them,  for  this  is  the 
law  and  the  prophets." 

In  forming  your  moral  character  and  habits,  I 
entreat  you  to  lay  great  stress  upon  cultivating  a 
sacred   and  delicate  regard  to  truth,  in  all  your 
social  intercourse.     Rely  upon  it,  you  cannot  pay 
too  conscientious   a  regard  to  this  point.     A  fault 
here  is  as  dishonourable  as  it  is  criminal.     I  do 
not  allow  myself  to  fear  that  my  beloved  grand- 
children, after  the  training  they  have  received,  will 
ever  indulge  in  deliberate  falsehood.     In  this  there 
is  a  meanness  as  well  as  a  sin,  which  I  hope  they 
will  equally  despise  and  abhor.     But  it  is  to  be 
lamented  that  there  is  much  in  social  conversation, 
in  which  many  people  deemed  respectable  are  apt 
to  indulge  themselves,  and  which  I  hope  you  will 
make  conscience  of  sacredly  avoiding.     I  mean  all 
exaggeration  in  your  descriptions ;  all  high-colour- 
ing in  your  statements;  all  indulgence  in  fabulous 
narratives,  even  in  jest,  for  the  amusement  of  com- 
pany.    Aside  from  the  dictates  of  religion  in  this 
matter,  which  are  sacred  and  conclusive,  there  is 
something  in  these  habits  adapted  to  lower  the 
character,  and  to  diminish  the  influence  of  those 
who  indulge  them,  with  all  sober-minded  people. 
Whatever  may  be  the  consequence,  let  a  regard  to 
the  strictest  verity,  as  if  you  were  on  oath,  reign 
8 


"78  LETTERS     OF 

in  all  you  say  and  do.  Avoid  the  meanness,  as 
well  as  the  sin  of  the  slightest  departure  from  abso- 
lute truth.  Let  all  underhand  deceptive  contri- 
vances, all  low  cunning,  all  habits  of  carrying 
your  plans  by  disingenuous  arts,  be  abhorred  and 
avoided.  How  gratifying  would  it  be  to  those 
who  love  you,  to  know  that  it  had  passed  into 
something  like  a  proverb  among  your  acquaint- 
ance— "  The  statement  is  from  a  Breckinridge — 
and  therefore  may  be  depended  on!" 

Let  me  farther  entreat  you  to  guard  against  all 
indulgence  of  the  spirit  of  pride,  or  vanity.  By 
pride,  I  mean  such  an  inordinate  and  unreasonable 
conceit  of  our  own  superiority  in  any  respect,  as 
leads  us  to  look  down  on  others  as  beneath  us,  and 
to  treat  them  with  haughtiness,  or  contempt.  And 
by  vanity,  I  understand  that  excessive  desire  for 
the  applause  of  others  which  leads  to  egotism,  and 
such  a  weak  anxiety  to  attract  the  notice,  and  gain 
the  approbation  of  those  around  us,  as  are  apt  to 
betray  into  little  and  unworthy  arts  for  gaining  the 
object.  That  both  ought  to  be  repudiated,  as  at 
once  folly  and  sin,  I  hope  no  formal  argument  will 
be  necessary  to  convince  you.  But  still,  they  are 
both  besetting  sins,  which  cleave  with  deplorable 
obstinacy  to  multitudes  whose  judgment  is  against 
them.  Be  assured,  dear  children,  pride  is  as  fool- 
ish as  it  is  criminal.  Who  made  you  to  differ 
from  others  ?  And  what  have  you  that  you  have 
not  received?    Tf  you  have  minds,  or  an  education. 


A     GRANDFATHER.  79 

or  outward  circumstances  more  favourable  than 
those  of  many  others,  who  conferred  them  upon 
you?  If,  therefore,  you  have  received  all,  why 
should  you  glory  as  if  you  had  not  received  them  ? 
I  know  that  we  sometimes  hear  people  talk  of  a 
"  laudable  pride,"  an  "  honest  pride,"  "  a  noble 
pride,"  &;c.  But  such  language  is  a  grievous 
abuse  of  terms,  and  ought  to  be  forever  banished 
from  the  vocabulary  of  Christians.  Pride  was 
"  the  condemnation  and  snare  of  the  devil,"  and  is 
in  all  cases  a  weakness  and  a  sin.  To  call  a  pro- 
per personal  dignity  and  self-respect  by  this  odious 
name,  is  altogether  incorrect  and  deceptive.  To 
speak  of  a  disposition  to  avoid  a  mean  action  as 
"  a  noble  pride,"  is  a  perversion  of  language,  as 
well  as  of  moral  principle.  "  Be  clothed  with 
humility ;"  for  God  resisteth  the  proud,  but  giveth 
grace  to  the  humble."  "  Pride  goeth  before  de- 
struction, and  an  haughty  spirit  before  a  fall ;  for 
when  pride  cometh,  then  cometh  shame,  but  with 
the  lowly  is  wisdom."  Vanity  is  a  passion  still 
more  childish  and  degrading.  It  exhibits  a  rational 
creature  hanging  on  the  smiles  and  the  praise  of 
his  fellow  worms  for  his  importance  and  happi- 
ness. O,  what  infatuation  for  miserable  sinners, 
who  deserve  nothing  at  the  hand  of  God  but  wrath, 
and  the  overflowing  of  wrath,  and  who  are  depend- 
ant on  his  bounty  for  every  breath,  to  be  puffed  up 
with  high  thoughts  of  themselves,  and  arrogantly 
to  claim  the  incense   of  praise !     Fly,  then,  from 


^ 


§0  LETTERS     OF 

pride  and  vanity  with  the  utmost  vigilance.  Study- 
to  be  "  meek  and  lowly  in  heart."  "  Mind  not 
high  things,  but  condescend  to  men  of  low  estate." 
"  In  lowliness  of  mind  esteem  others  better  than 
yourselves."  "  Be  not  wise  or  great  in  your  own 
conceits."  Be  not  greedy  of  praise.  Despise  all 
the  unworthy  arts  of  seeking  and  fishing  for  it. 
Rely  upon  it,  the  lower  you  lie  in  the  dust  of 
abasement,  the  happier  you  will  be.  The  more 
you  are  disposed  to  love  and  honour  all  around 
you  according  to  their  real  character,  the  more 
infallibly  you  will  secure  their  love  and  confidence 
in  return.  And  the  less  anxious  you  are  to  gain 
the  applause  of  men,  the  more  likely  you  will  be 
to  attain  it,  if  you  are  found  humbly  and  diligently 
performing  your  duty.  In  short,  if  I  wished  you 
to  gain  the  highest  degree  of  esteem  and  honour 
among  men,  I  would  say — Do  not  seek  this  object 
anxiously,  or  even  directly  at  all.  Never  inquire 
what  others  say  or  think  of  you.  Speak  of  your- 
selves, in  conversation,  as  little  as  possible.  Treat 
your  superiors  with  uniform  respect,  but  not  with 
fawning  or  flattery ;  and  your  inferiors,  down  to 
the  lowest  servant  or  beggar,  with  undeviating 
condescension  and  kindness;  trying  to  benefit 
every  one,  and  promote  the  happiness  of  every 
one ;  and  you  will  have  as  much  of  the  love  and 
respect  of  all  as  you  really  deserve,  and  probably 
more.  If  you  sincerely  try  to  promote  the  happi- 
ness of  all  around  you,  and  do  it  with  a  kind  and 


A     GRANDFATHER.  Ql 

amiable  manner,  I  believe  it  is  one  of  the  cases  in 
which  our  Lord's  declaration  never  fails  to  be  ful- 
filled— "  Give,  and  it  shall  be  given  unto  you, 
good  measure  pressed  down  and  running  over 
shall  men  give  into  your  bosom." 

Strive  with  sacred  care  against  every  feeling 
approaching  to  the  passion  of  envy.  As  you  are 
now  at  an  age  when  you  are  called  daily  to  com- 
pete with  school  and  play-mates,  you  may  be 
sometimes  strongly  tempted  to  indulge  in  this  pas- 
sion. But  it  is  a  base  passion.  Beware  of  it. 
How  fiend-like,  to  sicken  and  repine  at  excellence  ! 
How  base,  to  be  displeased  and  mortified  when  we 
contemplate  the  superior  prosperity,  happiness,  or 
accomplishments  of  others!  When  you  witness 
such  superior  attainments  or  excellence,  let  the 
only  effort  be  to  excite  gratitude  to  God  for  its 
existence,  and  a  generous  emulation  of  it  in  your- 
selves. 

Guard  with  vigilance  against  a  talebearing  and 
tattling  spirit.  I  will  not  suppose  you  capable  of 
deliberate  slander,  or  cruelly  circulating  reports  to 
the  injury  of  others  v/ithout  just  evidence.  This 
is  so  base  and  mean,  that  I  trust  you  will  ever 
abhor  and  despise  it.  But  it  is  the  infirmity  of 
many,  who  intend  thereby  no  injury,  that  they 
delight  in  circulating  news  concerning  their  neigh- 
bours, and  have  not  a  little. of  the  true  gossipjting 
spirit.  This  is  a  bad  habiki.  -It  degrades  the  indi- 
vidual who  indulges  it,  in  the  view  of  all  wise, 
8* 


§2  LETTERS     OF 

reflecting  people ;  often  involves  in  painful  expla- 
nations and  difficulties ;  and  is  frequently  followed 
by  consequences  of  the  most  perplexing  and  disre- 
putable kind.  Never  indulge  the  disposition  to 
repeat  idle  stories  about  neighbours.  If  they  are 
repeated  in  your  presence,  listen  to  them  either  in 
silence,  or  with  a  civil  remark,  which  cannot  pos- 
sibly implicate  you,  or  be  construed  into  an  appro- 
val of  the  scandal.  It  was  an  excellent  appeal 
which  was  once  made  by  a  wise  and  benevolent 
man  whom  I  knew  in  early  life — "  Why  can  you 
not  talk  more  about  things,  than  about  persons?'' 
Let  me  farther  exhort  you,  as  a  point  of  duty, 
to  cultivate  habitual  cheeifulness.  When  I  say 
this,  you  will  not  understand  me  as  recommending 
a  spirit  of  levity  and  frivohty.  This  is  unworthy 
of  rational,  accountable  creatures,  and  indicates  as 
much  of  weakness  as  of  sin.  Those  who  spend 
their  lives  in  gaiety  and  mirth,  are  "  dead  while 
they  live."  But  by  cultivating  habitual  cheerful- 
ness, I  mean  cherishing  a  pleasant  state  of  the  ani- 
mal spirits;  as  opposed  to  constitutional  gloom, 
mental  depression,  and  settled,  clouded  taciturnity, 
I  mean  habits,  not  of  light,  but  of  lively  and  affable 
conversation.  Such  a  state  of  mind  does  good 
like  a  medicine.  It  contributes  to  our  own  enjoy- 
ment. It  makes  us  more  pleasant  and  useful  to 
those  with  whom  we  converse.  It  may  even  ope- 
rate to  promote  health  and  prolong  life;  and  in 
various  ways  extend  our  power  of  doing  good. 


<r 


ih.- 


A     GRANDFATHER.  §3 

Guard  with  conscientious  care  against  habits  of 
indolence.  A  tendency  to  this  sin  is  one  of  the 
radical  symptoms  of  the  gi'eat  moral  disease  of  our 
nature ;  and  you  cannot  begin  too  early  to  labour 
and  pray  for  effecting  a  cure.  Fly  from  idle- 
ness as  a  habit  connected  with  a  legion  of  evils. 
Make  a  point  of  always  having  something  useful 
to  do — something  to  fill  up  every  moment  left 
vacant  between  the  larger  and  more  important 
tasks  of  life.  I  am  aware  that  we  all  stand  in  need 
of  recreation;  but  this  is  often  best  attained  by 
a  change  of  employment.  When  you  have  finish- 
ed a  sedentary  task,  which  required  intense  appli- 
cation of  mind,  think,  for  a  moment,  whether  there 
be  not  some  other  object  to  which  you  may  attend 
for  a  short  time,  which  will  require  no  mental 
effort,  but  by  attention  to  which,  you  may  promote 
either  your  own  health  or  comfort,  or  the  advan- 
tage of  others.  Make  it  your  daily  study  to 
"redeem  the  time."  Try  to  turn  every  moment 
to  some  valuable  account.  For  this  purpose,  form, 
as  early  as  possible,  a  plan,  a  systematic  order  in 
your  daily  tasks.  Without  such  a  plan,  more  or 
less  formally  adopted,  you  will  inevitably  lose 
much  time  in  passing  from  one  engagement  to 
another.  But  if  you  manage  always  to  have  some- 
thing useful  with  which  to  fill  up  every  little  inter- 
val; so  as  never  to  be  idle,  and  never  to  waste 
time  with  frivolous,  or  worse  than  frivolous  em- 
ployments, you  will  be  more  happy,  and  live  more 


34  LETTERS     OF 

to  your  own  true  honour,  and  the  benefit  of  your 
generation. 

I  have  only  to  add  on  the  subject  of  this  letter, 
a  single  word  on  the  great  importance  of  maintain- 
ing strict  and  habitual  temperance  in  all  your  en- 
joyments. If  you  wish  really  to  enjoy  life,  and  to 
"live  out  all  your  days,"  you  must  exercise  mode- 
ration and  self-denial  in  eating  and  drinking,  and  in 
every  department  of  indulgence.  Temperance  has 
been  defined — the  moderate  use  of  things  useful,  and 
total  abstinence  from  those  which  are  pernicious. 
This  is  an  excellent  definition,  which  I  trust  you 
will  ever  keep  in  mind,  and  make  your  daily  and 
hourly  rule.  To  be  thus  temperate,  is  a  divine 
command.  It  is  eminently  conducive  to  health. 
It  is  highly  advantageous  to  the  activity  and 
strength  of  the  powers  of  the  mind.  And  it  is  an 
admirable  defence  against  a  thousand  irregularities 
and  mischiefs  which  cloud  the  faculties,  destroy 
comfort,  and  lead  to  multiplied  forms  of  disease, 
and  to  premature  graves.  If  you  habitually  restrain 
appetite,  deny  yourselves,  and  "  let  your  modera- 
tion be  known"  in  all  things,  and  to  all  men,  you 
will  avoid  many  evils  which  continually  beset 
those  who  act  on  the  system  of  self-indulgence. 
Never  drink  any  thing  but  pure  water,  when  in 
health;  indulge  in  animal  food  but  once  in  each 
day,  and  that  in  smaller  quantities  than  most  people 
consider  as  temperate.  Labourers  in  the  open  air 
may,  not  only  with  impunity,  but  perhaps  with 


# 


A     GRANDFATHER.  §5 

profit,  eat  animal  food  more  than  once  every  day  ; 
but  I  am  persuaded  few  other  persons  can  do  it 
without  disadvantage  to  their  heaUh.  My  per- 
sonal experience  and  observation  in  regard  to  this 
point  are  very  decisive.  Nay,  I  would  advise  you 
to  go  one  step  farther.  Make  the  experiment  of 
wholly  abstaining  .from  animal  food  at  least  one 
day  in  each  week,  for  the  purpose  of  "giving 
nature  a  holyday;"  of  clearing  the  body  and  the 
mind  from  crudities;  and  taking  a  new  start  in 
refined  feeling  and  unclogged  activity. 

In  fine,  let  it  be  the  object  of  your  unceasing 
study  and  prayer,  to  "  keep  under  the  body;"  to 
"  crucify  the  flesh  with  the  aflJections  and  lusts ;" 
to  subdue  and  restrain  all  irregular  tempers;  "if  it 
be  possible,  as  much  as  lieth  in  you,  to  live  peace- 
ably with  all  men;"  to  avoid  wounding  the  feelings 
of  any  one  with  whom  you  converse,  unless  re- 
quired to  do  it  by  a  pure  sense  of  duty ;  to  promote 
the  happiness  of  all  around  you ;  and  to  be  con- 
tinually seeking  and  improving  opportunities  of 
doing  good. 


•i^V 


85  LETTERS     OF 


LETTER  VIII 


MANNERS. 


Dear  Children  : — I  wish  it  were  in  my  power 
to  give  you  a  perfect  and  vivid  representation  of 
the  manners  of  your  lamented  Mother.  There 
was  in  them  a  sweetness,  a  gracefulness,  and  an 
attraction  truly  rare.  Wherever  she  went,  they  at 
once  gained  her  friends.  I  am  sure  if  you  had 
been  old  enough  at  her  decease  to  appreciate  them ; 
or,  if  I  could  now  depict  them  to  the  life,  you 
would  have  a  deeper  impression  of  the  importance 
of  happy  manners ;  of  their  value  to  their  posses- 
sor ;  of  their  benign  influence  on  social  intercourse, 
than  1  can  now  hope  to  impart.  As  it  is,  I  hope 
you  will  be  willing  to  take  on  trust  my  statement 
of  the  fact  concerning  her,  and  that  you  will  be 
stimulated  to  seek  a  similar  accomplishment. 

If  it  be  true,  as  has  been  often  said,  that  a 
good  face  is  an  "  open  letter  of  recommendation," 
wherever  its  possessor  appears ;  we  may,  with 
quite  as  much  emphasis,  say  the  same  of  pleasant 
engaging  manners.  Nay,  we  may  go  farther. 
The  most  beautiful  face  and  form  that  ever  existed, 
if  unaccompanied  by  agreeable  manners,  will  soon 
be  contemplated  with  indiflerence,  if  not  with  dis- 


A     ORANDFATHER 


87 


gust.  While,  on  the  contrary,  where  there  is  an 
entire  absence  of  personal  beauty,  there  may  be, 
and  often  are  found,  such  manners  as  captivate  and 
win  wherever  they  are  seen,  and  with  a  power  felt 
by  all,  however  remote  they  may  be  from  the  pos- 
session of  such  manners  themselves. 

I  shall  not  tax  either  your  patience  or  my  own, 
by  entering  largely  into  the  subject  of  manners. 
On  this  extensive  subject  I  refer  you  to  a  volume 
on  "  Clerical  Manners  and  Habits"  which  I  pub- 
lished a  few  years  ago,  and  in  which  considerable 
minuteness  of  detail  is  indulged.  For  although 
that  work  was  intended  more  particularly  for  the 
benefit  of  clergymen,  and  especially  of  candidates 
for  the  sacred  office ;  yet  a  large  portion  of  it  is 
equally  applicable  to  all  classes  and  professions, 
and  to  both  sexes.  I  recommend  the  volume 
referred  to,  to  your  serious  attention,  and  to  your 
careful  study.  And  whatever  may  be  your  situa- 
tion in  life,  I  think  you  will  find  much  in  it  worthy 
of  your  regard.  At  any  rate,  if  it  be  not  so,  I  have 
failed  of  gaining  my  main  object  in  its  publication. 

I  will  not,  however,  content  myself  with  merely 
referring  you  to  the  volume  in  question.  It  is  my 
wish,  in  this  litde  system  of  aflfectionate  advices, 
to  call  your  attention  to  a  few  particulars  on  this 
subject  which  may  be  considered  as  more  imme- 
diately appropriate  at  your  present  tender  age,  and, 
perhaps,  on  that  account,  more  likely  to  dwell 
upon  your  memory  than  the  contents  of  a  volume. 


gg  LETTERS     OF 

You  will,  perhaps,  ask  me,  what  I  mean  by 
those  "  good  manners"  which  I  would  recom- 
mend? I  answer,  by  such  manners  I  mean  that 
mode  of  personal  address  and  deportment  toward 
all  with  whom  we  converse  which  is  dictated  by 
the  meekness,  benevolence,  and  purity  of  the  Gos- 
pel. In  a  word,  "  true  politeness" — the  most 
genuine  politeness — that  which  I  would  earnestly 
desire  those  whom  I  love  to  cherish  and  culti- 
vate— is  the  religion  of  Christ  acted  out  in  the 
whole  temper,  conversation,  and  deportment.  The 
simple,  unembarrassed,  gentle  expression  of  min- 
gled respect  and  kindness  toward  all  with  whom 
we  converse,  from  the  hovel  to  the  palace,  is  the 
perfection  of  manners.  These  are  manners  which 
become  all  times,  places,  companies,  and  circum- 
stances, and  which  will  carry  their  possessor 
through  the  world  with  acceptance  and  comfort. 

Perhaps,  in  your  inexperience,  you  may  be 
disposed  to  ask,  what  is  the  great  value  of  such 
manners  as  are  here  recommended?  If  you  have 
any  doubt  on  this  subject  now,  I  am  persuaded  a 
little  more  knowledge  of  the  world  will  satisfy  you 
that  their  value  is  unspeakably  great.  Few  people 
are  adequate  judges  of  those  solid  intellectual  and 
moral  qualities  which  form  a  character  of  high 
excellence.  But  of  personal  manners,  all  are 
judges ;  at  any  rate,  all  are  capable  of  perceiving, 
and  in  some  degree  estimating,  their  value.  Only 
a  small  portion  of  those  with  whom  you  converse 


A     GRANDFATHER. 


89 


are  able  to  discern  whether  you  are  wise  and  well 
informed;  but  every  child  can  see  whether  you 
have  a  sweet  voice,  a  pleasant  countenance,  an 
amiable,  kind  and  respectful  mode  of  address,  or 
the  contrary.  Can  there  be,  then,  a  more  obvious 
dictate,  both  of  policy  and  duty,  than  to  cultivate 
that  which,  to  multitudes,  is  more  attractive  than 
real  merit ;  which  secures  to  merit  a  hearing,  and 
an  influence  which  it  would  not  otherwise  obtain ; 
and  which  will  be  likely,  in  many  cases,  to  open  a 
door  to  usefulness  which,  without  it,  would,  in  all 
probabihty,  have  continued  impenetrably  closed? 
In  repeated  instances  have  I.  known  persons  of 
weak  minds,  and  of  small  information,  but  of 
remarkably  fascinating  manners,  carry  all  iDefore 
them  in  circles  of  society  into  which  persons  of  far 
higher  qualifications,  both  intellectual  and  moral, 
but  defective  in  the  attractions  of  manner,  were 
scarcely  able  to  obtain  admittance,  and  very  inade- 
quately esteemed  when  admitted.  A  soft,  insinua- 
ting address  has,  a  thousand  times,  rendered  its 
possessor  every  where  acceptable  and  popular, 
when,  on  the  score  of  real  merit,  he  ought  by  no 
means  to  have  enjoyed  so  much  public  favour. 

But  this  is  not  all.  Pleasant  attractive  manners 
not  only  have  a  paramount  influence  with  the 
superficial  and  unthinking;  but  they  have  more 
power  even  on  the  minds  of  the  wise  and  the  good 
than  is  commonly  imagined.  To  every  human 
being,  that  which  is  intrinsically  excellent,  appears 
9 


90  LETTERS     OF 

doubly  attractive  when  presented  in  a  pleasing 
manner.  Truth,  even  to  those  who  know  it  to  be 
truth,  finds  a  more  cordial  welcome;  and  duty, 
even  among  its  most  sincere  and  enlightened 
friends,  commands  a  more  ready  obedience,  when 
they  are  clothed  in  an  attractive  garb,  and  speak  in 
alluring  accents.  That  the  very  same  words, 
which,  when  uttered  by  some,  are  intolerably 
offensive;  when  spoken  in  the  mild,  respectful 
manner  of  others,  are  welcome,  and  even  delight- 
ful— that  the  very  same  action,  which,  performed 
by  some,  is  censured ;  when  performed  by  others, 
of  perhaps  less  talent  or  virtue,  is  lauded  to  ex- 
cess ;  are  among  the  most  notorious  facts  in  human 
life ;  and  that  not  in  the  circles  of  ignorance  and 
dissipation  only,  but  also  in  those  of  the  most  esti- 
mable portions  of  mankind. 

To  despise  or  undervalue  the  cultivation  of 
manners,  then,  argues  a  great  want  of  practical 
wisdom.  It  is  a  subject  worthy  of  your  constant 
regard.  To  neglect  it,  is  equally  to  oppose  reason 
and  experience,  and  to  set  at  naught  some  of  the 
most  precious  means  of  gaining  access  to  the  hu- 
man heart.  And  when  I  speak  of  cultivating  good 
manners,  do  not  imagine  that  I  mean  the  formal, 
showy,  pompous  ms^miers  which  some  commend, 
and  seem  to  aim  at.  The  truth  is,  the  perfection 
of  manners — the  ultimate  point  which  is  the  result 
of  the  very  best  culture,  is  to  attain  that  ease,  sim- 
plicity, modesty,  and  gentleness  of  deportment  in 


A     GRANDFATHER.  QJ 

every  thing,  which  has  nothing  of  the  artificial, 
nothing  of  display  about  it.  But  to  be  more  par- 
ticular. 

The  first  characteristic  of  manners  to  which 
I  would  direct  your  attention,  as  lying  at  the 
foundation  of  all  excellence,  is  benignity.  With- 
out the  law  of  benevolence,  reigning  in  the  heart, 
and  governing  the  temper  and  the  life,  there  may 
be  much  pomp  and  courtliness  of  manner ;  many 
a  heartless  smile,  and  many  a  flattering  form 
of  address;  but  there  can  be  no  genuine  polite- 
ness. The  essence  of  this  consists  in  the  spirit 
of  cordial  good  will  and  kindness  shining  in  the 
countenance ;  expressing  itself  in  the  language  and 
tones  of  respect  and  benevolent  regard ;  and  flowing 
through  all  the  channels  of  human  intercourse,  and 
all  the  minutiae  of  human  life.  This  is  the  vital 
principle  of  good  manners.  Just  in  proportion  as 
you  really  desire  to  increase  the  happiness  of  all 
around  you;  to  consult  their  ease;  to  anticipate 
their  wants;  and  to  promote  their  welfare — you 
will  spontaneously  manifest  these  feelings  in  all 
situations  and  companies.  Your  whole  deport- 
ment will  be  pleasing,  attractive,  and  graceful, 
without  your  having  studied  artificial  rules.  This 
is  the  foundation  and  the  sum  of  all;  but  it  may 
not  be  improper  to  trace  the  radical  principle  into 
some  of  its  minute  details. 

In  all  social  intercourse,  let  respectful  attention 
mark  your  whole  manner.     To  turn  away  youi 


92  LETTERS      OF 

eyes  from  the  person  who  is  addressing  you ;  oi 
to  manifest  in  any  way  that  you  are  thinking,  or 
wish  to  be  thinking,  of  something  else,  is  a  great 
breach  of  good  manners  ;  cannot  fail  of  giving  pain 
to  those  with  whom  you  converse ;  and  must  de- 
prive you  of  a  large  part  of  the  benefit  of  conversa- 
tion. When  you  look  your  companion  gently  and 
respectfully,  but  firmly  in  the  face,  you  manifest 
attention;  you  enable  yourselves  to  watch  his 
countenance,  and  mark  the  impression  which  you 
make  on  his  mind ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  power 
of  the  eye  in  seconding  and  enforcing  all  that  is 
said. 

Cultivate  affability  of  manner.  By  this  I  mean 
that  style  of  manners  which  is  distinguished  by 
ease,  simplicity,  and  courteousness ;  a  deportment 
opposed  to  haughtiness,  reserve,  coldness,  or  taci- 
turnity; in  short,  to  every  thing  that  is  adapted 
to  repel,  or  to  prevent  freedom  and  comfort  of 
approach.  I  am  aware  that  constitutional  tempera- 
ment has  much  to  do  with  this.  But  still,  it  is 
equally  true  that  affability  may  and  ought  to  be 
carefully  cultivated ;  and  that  there  are  few  things 
better  adapted  to  conciliate  good  will,  to  inspire 
confidence,  to  invite  freedom  of  communication, 
and  to  place  at  ease  all  with  whom  we  converse. 

Study  to  exercise  gentleness  and  mildness  in  all 
your  deportment  and  conversation.  Guard  against 
every  thing  harsh,  severe,  rough,  abrupt,  or  in  any 
way  rej)ulsive  in  your  language,  voice,  or  manner. 


^•li 


A     GRANDFATHER.  93 

Let  the  meekness  and  gentleness  of  wisdom  appear 
in  every  look,  tone,  and  expression.  By  a  mild, 
respectful  address,  you  may  at  once  reprove  im- 
pertinence, disarm  violence,  and  put  even  brutality 
to  shame.  Give  all  diligence,  then,  to  be  "  gentle 
toward  all  men."  Learn  the  happy  art  of  convers- 
ing with  gentleness,  of  giving  your  commands 
with  gentleness,  of  arguing  with  gentleness,  of 
contending  with  gentleness,  and  of  even  reproving 
with  gentleness.  Both  commands  and  reproofs, 
as  well  as  arguments,  when  dispensed  in  this 
manner,  have  not  only  more  dignity,  but  also  more 
weight  than  when  invested  with  an  opposite  cha- 
racter. 

Few  things  are  more  opposed  to  good  breeding 
than  a  loud,  boisterous  manner  in  social  inter- 
course. Whether  this  be  indulged  in  laughter,  or 
in  conversation,  it  is  equally  exceptionable  as  an 
offence  against  both  delicacy  and  dignity.  With 
regard  io  females,  an  offence  against  this  rule,  is 
peculiarly  revolting.  It  is  a  sure  sign  of  vulgarity, 
and  ought  to  be  carefully  avoided.  But,  in  either 
sex,  it  is  a  blemish  which  well  bred  people  never 
fail  to  notice. 

Closely  allied  to  this  is  the  habit  of  ncde fami- 
liarity which  some  affect,  and  to  which  they  give 
the  name  of  social  pleasantry.  This  is  undignified, 
and,  to  all  dehcate  people,  offensive.  Mutual  dig- 
nity and  respect  are  indispensable  to  the  continued 
existence  of  Christian  intercourse,  in  its  most  pure, 
9* 


94  LETTERS     OF 

delicate,  and  profitable  form.  If  you  wish  to 
maintain  such  intercourse,  be  free  and  unconstrain- 
ed ;  but  never  indulge  in  coarse  famiharity.  Those 
who  are  worthy  of  your  love  will  certainly  be 
repelled  rather  than  attracted  by  it. 

Remember,  too,  that  all  interruption  of  any  one 
with  whom  you  are  conversing,  or  blunt  contra- 
diction of  his  statements,  is  an  offence  against 
delicate  manners.  >  However  erroneous  he  may 
be,  hear  him  out;  and  however  certain  you  may 
be,  that,  his  representations  are  false,  rectify  his 
mistake,  not  bluntly,  but  with  kindness  and  res- 
pect. 

Guard  against  talking  too  much  in  company. 
He  who  is  very  talkative  incurs  disadvantages  of  a 
very  serious  kind.  He  cheapens  himself;  tires  his 
hearers ;  and  must,  of  course,  diminish  his  useful- 
ness. However  rich  and  instructive  any  one's 
talk  may  be,  yet,  if  there  be  too  much  of  it,  both 
his  dignity  and  his  influence  cannot  fail  of  being 
impaired.  "  A  fool's  voice,"  says  Solomon,  "  is 
known  by  the  multitude  of  his  words."  "  In  the 
multitude  of  words,"  says  the  same  inspired  teach- 
er, "  there  wanteth  not  sin ;  but  he  that  refraineth 
his  lips  is  wise."  And  again,  "  He  that  hath 
knowledge,  spareth  his  words." 

But  another  extreme  in  social  intercourse,  is 
that  of  excessive  reserve  and  taciturnity.  Some 
from  physical  temperament;  others  from  abstrac- 
tion or  absence  of  mind ;  and  a  third  class,  per- 


t    X 


A     GRANDFATHER.  95 

haps,  from  still  more  exceptionable  causes,  wrap 
themselves  up  in  a  chilling  reserve  in  company — 
never  speaking  but  when  addressed;  and  then 
answering  as  briefly  as  possible,  and  relapsing  into 
silence  again.  This  is  surely  unhappy  in  a  social 
being,  and  ought  to  be  carefully  avoided.  While 
you  avoid  garrulity,  then,  sink  not  down  into  obsti- 
nate silence.  If  you  find  yourselves,  from  any 
cause,  prone  to  this,  it  is  abundantly  worth  while 
to  take  pains  to  counteract  it,  and  to  labour  to  have 
something  ready  to  say  that  shall  be  at  once 
acceptable  and  instructive. 

In  regard  to  uncleanly  and  vulgar  personal 
habits,  I  will  not  suppose  you  capable  of  them; 
and,  therefore,  shall  not  dwell  upon  them.  All 
spitting  on  floors,  lounging  in  your  seats,  putting 
up  your  feet  on  chairs  or  stools,  leaning  with  your 
elbows  on  tables — these,  and  all  similar  habits,  I 
hope,  after  the  training  you  have  had,  you  will 
avoid  with  instinctive  repugnance.  But  there  is 
one  habit  which  I  would  earnestly  recommend,  as 
favourable  not  merely  to  good  manners,  but  also  to 
health.  Learn  to  sU  erect,  not  only  in  company, 
but  even  in  your  most  private  apartment.  Reading 
or  writing  in  a  half-sunken  or  reclining  posture  is 
unfriendly  to  a  graceful  carriage ;  is  apt  to  betray 
unwarily  into  similar  postures  in  company;  pre- 
pares the  way  for  the  sinking,  half-bent  postures 
which  disfigure  so  many  of  the  feeble  and  aged ; 


96  LETTERS     OF 

and  really  tends  to  bring  on  premature  decrepi- 
tude. 

Do  not  affect  loit  ox  punning  in  conversation. 
So  many  of  those  who  try  to  make  themselves 
acceptable  by  such  attempts,  not  only  fail,  but  often 
render  themselves  a  laughing  stock  by  it,  that  there 
is  litde  probability  of  your  succeeding  as  wits  or 
punsters.  But  even  with  respect  to  those  whose 
talents  in  this  way  are  ever  so  great,  there  is  so 
much  danger  of  their  indulging  those  talents  unsea- 
sonably and  imprudently,  so  as  to  offend  and  alien- 
ate friends,  that  such  powers  ought  to  be  depreca- 
ted rather  than  desired,  and  their  exercise,  if  pos- 
sessed, subjected  to  the  severest  restriction.  I  never 
knew  more  than  one  person  of  wit  who  was  strict- 
ly discreet  and  dehcate  in  its  use.  But  I  have 
known  thousands  who,  by  their  miserable  attempts 
to  display  what  they  possessed  either  not  at  all,  or 
in  a  very  small  degree,  succeeded  only  in  exposing 
themselves  to  ridicule.  And  I  have  known  many 
real  wits,  who  almost  every  day  wounded  feelings, 
and  alienated  friends  by  their  reckless  effusions. 

Do  not  indulge  the  habit  in  conversation  of  talk- 
ing of  yourselves.  .  Hardly  any  quality  is  more 
apt  to  appear  in  social  intercourse  than  personal 
vanity.  This  leads  to  egotism,  so  that  the  idea  of 
self  appears  to  be  ever  present  to  the  imagination. 
Hence  we  perpetually  find  people  talking  of  them- 
selves ;    what  X\\Qy  have   done ;    what   they  have 


A     GRANDFATHER.  Q^ 

said;  what  others  have  said  and  done  to  their 
honour ;  in  short,  bringing  into  view  something  to 
their  own  advantage,  or  that  of  their  family  or 
relatives.  Rely  upon  it,  if  you  have  real  worth,  the 
less  you  say  about  it  the  better ;  and  if  you  have  it 
not,  every  claim  of  it,  direct  or  indirect,  can  only 
sink  you  lower  in  the  estimation  of  those  with 
whom  you  converse. 

Carefully  form  the  habit  of  adverting  to  all  the 
properties  oi  time,  place  and  circumstances  in  con- 
versation. When  you  are  about,  in  company,  to 
make  a  remark,  or  to  introduce  a  new  topic  of 
conversation,  look  round  on  the  circle,  and  ask 
yourself,  whether  there  is  any  one  present  whose 
feelings  would  be  likely  to  be  hurt  by  what  you 
are  about  to  say,  or  who  would  be  placed  by  it  in 
embarrassing  circumstances.  Be  very  sure  for 
example,  when  about  to  make,  in  company,  an 
unfavourable  remark  on  an  absent  person,  that  no 
relative  or  special  friend  of  that  person  is  among 
your  hearers.  For,  although  you  ought  never  to 
make  a  remark  on  any  one  which  the  Christian 
spirit  cannot  justify;  yet  in  certain  circumstances 
a  remark  perfectly  proper  in  itself,  may  be  unsea 
sonable,  and  peculiarly  painful  to  some  who  hear  it, 
Guard  against  the  possibility  of  such  an  occurrence, 
This  is  a  dictate  of  sound  worldly  policy.  A  de 
parture  from  it  is  a  gross  violation  of  true  polite 
ness.     But  it  may  be  said,  still  more  emphatically 


98  LETTERS     OF 

to  be  a  departure  from  the  principles  of  Christian 
benevolence. 

Avoid  the  too  frequent  use  of  superlatives  in  con- 
versation. The  habit  of  many,  when  they  wish  to 
express  either  approbation  or  censure,  is  to  employ 
the  very  strongest  terms  which  the  English  language 
affords.  If  they  think  favourably  of  the  talents  or 
the  performance  of  any  one,  they  are  apt  to  speak 
of  them  as  "  noble,  admirable,"  as  of  "  the  first 
order;"  or  in  some  terms  expressive  of  the  very 
highest  excellence.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  if 
they  undertake  to  express  disapprobation,  the 
terms  "mean,"  "execrable,"  "detestable,"  are 
the  softest  that  they  think  of  employing.  This  is 
a  bad  habit.  It  renders  both  the  praise  and  cen- 
sure of  those  who  indulge  it  of  less  value  in  the 
estimation  of  all  sober-minded  and  discriminating 
judges.  If  you  wish  your  judgment  to  pass  for 
any  thing  in  the  view  of  the  wise  and  reflecting, 
you  must  learn  to  express  opinions  in  that  guarded 
and  moderate  manner  which  indicates  intellectual 
discrimination  rather  than  undistinguishing  emo- 
tion. You  know  where  it  is  said  "  Fools  admire, 
where  men  of  sense  approve." 

Carefully  avoid  giving  unnecessary  trouble  wher- 
ever you  are.  The  diflference  between  different 
persons  in  this  respect  is  very  conspicuous.  Some, 
when  in  the  houses  of  their  friends,  have  so  many 
lilde  wants,  so  many  errands  to  perform,  and  are 


A     GRANDFATHER.  QO 

SO  absorbed  in  their  own  affairs,  that,  if  permit- 
ted, they  would  keep  several  servants  and  others 
constantly  employed  in  waiting  upon  them.  You 
may  rely  upon  it  you  can  never  be,  long  together, 
welcome  visitants  in  families  which  you  subject  to 
so  much  trouble.  Make  as  few  demands  as  possi- 
ble on  the  time  and  attention  of  those  whose  hospi- 
tality you  are  enjoying.  Never  call  upon  their 
servants  to  wait  upon  you  when  it  is  practicable  to 
avoid  it.  Never  allow  the  occupations  or  order  of 
any  family  to  be  set  aside  or  disarranged  on  your 
account,  where  it  is  possible  to  prevent  it.  In 
short,  act  universally  on  the  principle  of  doing 
every  thing  that  you  can  for  yourselves,  and  mak- 
ing as  few  demands  as  possible  on  the  time  and 
labour  of  those  around  you. 

In  calling  on  friends  consult  their  convenience, 
as  well  as  your  own;  and  in  some  cases  in  prefer- 
ence to  your  own.  JVIany  make  their  calls  at  such 
hours,  and  sit  so  inordinately  long,  as  to  throw  a 
whole  family  into  disorder,  and  inflict  very  serious 
pain.  Never  sit  long  in  your  social  calls  at  any 
time ;  but  when  you  make  them  at  times  which 
may,  by  possibiUty  interfere  with  domestic  meals, 
let  them  be  very  short;  be  on  the  watch  for  every 
symptom  of  engagement  or  uneasiness  on  the  part 
of  those  whom  you  visit,  and  on  the  appearance  of 
any  thing  of  the  kind,  instantly  take  your  leave. 

Constantly  maintain  the  habit  of  early  rising. 
Few  things  are  more  conducive  to  health  and  ac- 


I 


100  LETTERS    OF 

tivity  both  of  body  and  mind.  A  disposition  to  lie 
long  in  bed  in  the  morning,  is,  at  once,  a  symptom 
and  a  cause  of  feeble  digestion,  of  nervous  debility, 
and  of  general  languor.  Go  early  to  bed.  Avoid 
much  night  study.  Quit  your  beds  by  dawn  of 
day,  and,  in  winter,  before  the  dawn,  and  thus  se- 
cure several  hours  of  unbroken  time,  for  devotion, 
for  study,  and  for  gentle  exercise  in  the  open  air, 
before  breakfast,  and  before  the  interruptions  of 
the  earliest  visiters  commence. 

Cultivate  habits  of  moderation  in  dress.  You 
are  never  likely  to  be  able  to  indulge  in  very 
inordinate  expense  in  bodily  adorning ;  and  I  will 
venture  to  say,  this  inability,  wherever  it  exists,  is 
a-  great  blessing.  Few  things  evince  more  weak- 
ness of  mind,  and  absence  of  Christian  principle, 
than  extravagance  and  splendor  in  dress.  In 
young  men  it  is  a  sad  evidence  of  "  dandyism" 
and  folly ;  and  even  in  young  females,  an  exces- 
sive indulgence  in  fashion,  in  finery,  and  the 
extreme  of  devotion  to  bodily  adorning,  never 
fails  to  depress  their  character  in  the  estimation  of 
the  wise  and  good.  Try  to  set  an  example  of 
sober,  dignified  moderation  in  regard  to  this  whole 
subject.  Always  guard  against  negligence  of  dress. 
Conscientiously  avoid  exposing  yourselves  to  the 
charge  of  careless,  slatternly  habits.  But  never 
make  dress  an  idol.  Reject  every  thing  dazzling, 
or  what  is  commonly  called  "dashing,"  in  out- 
ward ornament.     Be  not  seen  aping  the  extreme 


A    grandfathe: 


101 


of  fashion;  and  ever  remember  how  unworthy  it 
is  of  Christians  to  be  worshippers  of  external 
adorning;  and  how  pecuUarly  disreputable  for  the 
children  of  clergymen  to  bear  such  a  character. 

Thus,  dear  children,  I  have  endeavoured,  with 
brevity,  to  give  you  a  few  paternal  counsels, 
which,  I  would  fondly  hope,  may,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  be  made  to  promote  your  benefit,  when 
the  hand  which  penned  them  shall  be  sleeping 
in  the  dust.  You  will  perceive  from  the  order 
in  which  I  have  placed  my  counsels,  that  I  con- 
sider real  heart  religion  as  the  most  indispensable 
and  precious  of  all  attainments ;  that  my  first  and 
highest  wish  concerning  you  is,  that  you  may  love 
your  Father's  and  Mother's  God,  and  make  it 
your  daily  aim  to  follow  her  to  that  world  of  bliss 
and  glory  to  which,  as  we  trust,  she  has  gone 
before  us.  Next  to  seeing  you  real  Christians, 
my  desire  is  to  see  you  enlightened,  pohshed, 
benevolent,  amiable,  attractive  members  of  society, 
respected  and  beloved  by  all  who  know  you. 

Remember,  I  beseech  you,  that  the  friends  of 
your  Parents  will  expect  much  from  you.  The 
advantages  which  you  have  enjoyed,  and  are  daily 
enjoying,  impose  upon  you  a  solemn  responsibility 
in  the  sight  both  of  God  and  man.  Many  prayers 
have  ascended  to  heaven  on  your  behalf.  Pray 
without  ceasing  for  yourselves,  that  you  may  be 
10 


Q2  LETTERS     OF 

preserved  from  the  paths  of  sin  and  folly,  and  led 
in  the  ways  of  heavenly  wisdom. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  the  counsels  I  have  given 
you  will  commend  themselves  to  your  judgment, 
and  that  you  will  promptly  form  the  resolution  to 
make  them  your  constant  guide.  But  you  cannot 
rely  upon  your  own  wisdom  or  strength  to  do  this. 
Such  are  your  own  infirmities,  and  so  multiplied 
the  temptations  and  allurements  which  surround 
you,  that  you  will  need  at  every  step,  guidance  and 
help  from  above.  Happy  will  it  be  for  you  if  you 
habitually  bear  this  in  mind,  and  acknowledge 
God  in  all  your  ways,  that  he  may  direct  your 
steps. 

And  now,  dear  children,  I  bid  you  farewell. 
When  I  look  forward,  and  imagine  to  myself  what 
may  be  your  course  in  life — when  I  think  of  the 
corruptions  and  perils  with  which  you  are  sur- 
rounded, and  what  may  be  the  result  of  them,  I 
hardly  know  how  to  express  my  anxieties  and 
fears :  but  when  I  recollect  the  love  and  faithful- 
ness of  that  God  who  blessed  your  Parents,  I  feel 
willing  to  commit  you  into  his  hands,  and  to  trust 
his  grace  for  your  temporal  and  eternal  welfare. 
May  he  guide  you  by  his  counsel!  May  he 
guard  you  amidst  all  the  dangers  of  youth  and  of 
riper  years  ;  and  finally,  "  present  you  faultless  be- 
fore the  presence  of  his  glory  with  exceeding  great 
joy !"     O  how  unutterably  precious  the  thought 


,  ,    «A     GRANDFATHER.  J[03 

of  meeting  you  all  at  last — with  those  ol"  our 
beloved  family  who  have  already  gone  before  us, 
and  those  who  are  yet  to  follow — around  the 
throne  of  our  covenant  God,  and  rejoicing  forever 
in  his  presence  and  glory !  Such  will  be  the 
prayer  until  his  last  breath,  of  your 
Affectionate  Grandfather, 

SAMUEL  MILLER. 
Princeton,  July  10,  1839. 


}\-  -^V 


•V^ 


THE  END. 


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